The Division Bell
by pekuxumi
Summary: For about a year, Dick has dealt with Damian's arrogant and aggressive behaviour with patience and smiles. But what if Damian takes things too far one day, and Dick decides that enough is enough? NO SLASH, pre- reboot.
1. A Great Day for Freedom

_**A/N:** Hey there! Come on, jump on my little let's-ignore-recent-comic-events-trip and have a nice story about Dick and Damian during their finest hour: as Batman and Robin! This story will mostly deal with Dick and Damian's relationship, but will brush on a few very serious issues on the way. Nothing explicit, no reason for an M-rating. Still, you're warned. This story is betaed by Callypse, who I suspect to be the Flash because she's incredibly fast. If you have to wait for an update, it's 100% my fault.  
_

"The Division Bell"_ is an album by the awesome band_ Pink Floyd_. One of their greatest, actually. It's main topic is communication or the lack of it. Just as my story, and since I'm terrible at picking titles, I chose to use the song titles. (**This is not a songfic**, though I highly recommend listening to Pink Floyd ;)_)

* * *

A division bell is a bell rung in parliaments as soon as a 'division', a voting method, takes place.

* * *

**The Division Bell**

**Chapter 1: A Great Day for Freedom**

Damian watched Grayson pace around the cave anxiously. Still in Batman gear minus the cowl, the cape swung behind him with every swirl and turn.

"Gotham's too dangerous to wander off alone, you _know_ that..."

Damian tuned out the well-known sermon. He knew what was bound to come: _'There're too many madman out there, Damian.' 'You're too inexperienced, Lil' D.' 'I only care about you, Dami._' Grayson was still bleeding from a stab wound to the shoulder, leaving a trail of blood splatter everywhere he went. Damian had tried to point that out, but the idiot had just snapped at him and went on with his scolding.

Damian couldn't care less. If the moron wanted to pass out from blood loss and hit his head, it really wasn't his problem. He had tons of others; Damian smirked mirthlessly and recalled the meeting with his mother just a couple of hours ago.

His fists clenched painfully. She had _replaced_ him. _With a clone. _

Damian felt the familiar rage bubbling up inside of him, choking him. After all her talk of 'love' and 'devotion' for her precious son, she had replaced him as soon she believed to have seen a flaw in Damian.

"...do you have any idea how worried I was? I've been looking everywhere for you and still..."

How detached she had sounded... though Damian had been so glad to see her. He had missed her dearly, even if he'd never admit it. Had missed her soft hands and proud posture. True, Damian had chosen to stay in the manor and be Robin, to leave his mother, but that didn't mean he hadn't missed her.

_You are a fool_, a voice in his head hissed, _to believe that she would miss you, too. _She had always possessed the ability to create another child, a _better_ child. Damian knew his mother still kept samples of the DNA that created him – but stupid as he apparently was, he had believed she just wouldn't _use_ it.

With a lot of willpower, Damian managed to unclench his fists and stared down at his hands. His nails had dug deep into his palms, angry red marks beginning to fade. Could she really replace him? Or was she trying to _improve_ him? He remembered all the times she had told him she loved him, was proud of his achievements. Were they lies? Or had she stopped loving him?

"...just because the Joker is in Arkham doesn't mean we can stop being careful..."

Damian redirected his glance towards the one other person who had claimed to love him, and felt his lips compressing. Grayson was standing now, rubbing his tired eyes while rambling on. The idiot had no idea about Damian's meeting with his mother, and Damian had no intention to change that. During patrol he had gotten a signal from his mother and followed it immediately. Batman and Robin reunited near the cave after merely an hour of separation, and Grayson's reaction to his absence was completely unnecessary. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself for a few minutes, but Grayson had insisted on making a scene as soon as they had stepped into the cave.

That wasn't anything out of the ordinary so far. Grayson shouting at him, pacing around while pulling at his hair occurred more often than not. Drake's disappearance two months ago had hit him hard, Damian knew, and his thread of patience was wearing thin and thinner.

They had begun to 'discuss' the topic as usual: Dick desperately trying to explain 'teamwork', Damian answering with spiteful insults. One day, he believed, Grayson would finally get it and accept Damian's way. He was no child, didn't need a brother or partner to back him up. He had sworn not to kill and was serious about that; no need to observe him on that matter either.

It had been when Grayson had pinched his nose in annoyance and begun his argument with the well-trodden phrase "I _worry_ about you, Dami...", that Damian's defenses came up. Grayson said things like that all the time, but now it had catapulted him right back in front of his mother, who told him she was breeding another son to _'make things right.'_

Grayson's open display of feelings had always made Damian uncomfortable. People didn't worry about him. They worried about his performance, about the future of the family or their plans, but not about his well-being. He had never learned to deal with the sappy emotions of a sappy imbecile, and frankly, Damian didn't _want_ to deal with them, especially not after his mother had just basically told him to go to hell.

"Nothing happened, alright?" Damian mumbled, annoyed, more to himself than to Grayson.

The idiot heard him, of course. "But something _could_ have happened, and I had no chance of finding you with your tracker off!"

Damian '-tt-'ed and rolled his eyes, but Grayson never got the hint. He just kept on rambling about family and responsibility and when he started to say that he cared about Damian too much to let him wander around Gotham alone, Damian felt how his temper got the better of him.

"You realize that I only got away because you didn't pay attention, right?"

Dick stopped right in his tracks, interrupted by Damian's insolent comment. "That's not the point," he said finally, eyes narrowing. "This is about your behaviour."

His own mother had lied to him about love and family – his_ mother_. As if he could ever believe _Grayson_, who wasn't even related to him by blood. He didn't need to hear another blatant lie, especially not from the person who was responsible for all this mess. If Grayson hadn't offered him the mantle of Robin, Damian wouldn't have stayed in Gotham. He knew he was too young yet to take the cowl, and being Robin was the closest he could get to his father's legacy. Neither Todd nor Pennyworth or Drake would have let him stay, no doubt about that. Grayson had been generous and Damian had accepted the offer, only to disappoint his mother and jeopardize his legacy thus.

"If you were only half as capable as Father was -"

"We're not discussing _my_ performance, Damian," Grayson interjected, obviously distressed. He crossed his arms to look resolute. _Idiot._

A razor-sharp smirk appeared on Damian's face. "Because that would take too long?"

"Because you need to listen to me."

"How could I listen to gypsy trash?" Damian asked with an evil smile and was pleased to see Grayson flinch at the unexpected turn of the conversation... It was so easy to wind him up, really. Grayson stared at him out of wide, surprised eyes, and Damian felt a rush of reassurance wash over him. He was in power now, he had this under control. "I still don't understand how my father could be foolish enough to take you in. Maybe your mother did some magic trick on him in that dirty circus of yours?"

"Damian!" Angry now, Grayson raised his voice in indignation.

All it took to make Grayson fly off the handle were a few derogatory comments about his parents and his heritage. Mixed with a few well-aimed punches at his and Father's issues, and he was spitting fire. It was so easy, and it felt so good to lash out. Grayson had forgotten the cause of their argument entirely by now, and Damian couldn't resist the push of adrenaline. A conversation he overheard during the last charity event of Wayne Industries popped up in his mind. He recalled Francis Bolton's whispered remarks, spoken through a lot of very expensive wine.

"Why so surprised Grayson? Isn't that what you gypsies do to screw wealthy people off money?"

"_What the hell_ are you talking about!?"

It was so easy. Before he knew what he was doing, the next words slipped out, the words of his mother. "I'm talking about _you_ taking away _my_ legacy."

"_Taking away your legacy?!"_ Grayson took a step back as if he had been slapped."Damian, I never took anything from you!"

"You're wearing my father's cowl, even though you'll never be good enough compared to a Wayne."

The words were pouring out, Bolton's, his mother's, and Damian breathed in the triumph of watching Grayson's hands ball into fists. He didn't need his mother, he didn't need Grayson, he could do this all on his own, better than any of them.

"Damian, _I swear_ if you don't stop talking right now-"

"I shouldn't be surprised, right?" Francis Bolton had leaned heavily over the equally drunk Janette Reese and looked at her conspiringly before whispering the next words. "Your folk never managed to put up a good fight. What happened in Europe was just what you deserved."

Damian had been right beside Bolton and Reese that night, but hidden in the shadows. The two drunken idiots hadn't noticed him, too intoxicated and dimwitted. Damian had just wanted to get a break from the phoniness and snobbery, but the way those two had whispered while shooting looks in his brother's direction had attracted his interest. Reese had started to giggle madly after Bolton's remark, trying ineffectually to hide her excitement behind a hand clasped to her mouth, and Damian was left wondering if he had heard right. He didn't know what might have happened to any gypsies in Europe – during the excitement of their fight right now, the words had come automatically.

Obviously he had understood the wealthy man correctly, for the words seemed to have ultimate impact on Grayson. Drawing a sharp breath, his 'brother' took a step backward.

"..what?" he asked, a mixture of defiance and disbelief. "_What_ did you just say?"

"You heard me well, Grayson."

He was waiting for Grayson's return, but none came. Dick was simply staring at him, kind of lost, shocked and hurt at the same time. Damian felt the satisfaction bubbling up – finally he had made the idiot shut up and actually take his words seriously. The next time he met his mother, he swore, he'd do the same with her. They wouldn't take him for a stupid child ever again.

Dick still hadn't said anything, nor moved. Damian's triumphant smirk slowly dissolved when he felt the skin of his face itch; Grayson kept staring at him, not even blinking.

Then suddenly, he nodded. "Okay," he said silently, voice barely above a whisper. "I see."

His gaze shifted a few inches above Damian's face, but never lost its confusing expression. With a few long, swift strides, Dick walked past Damian, without a further word or glance. Damian turned around to watch him make his way over to the stairs to the manor, unclasping the cape and discarding it unceremoniously beside the first step.

"Don't you have anything more to say?" Damian called after him, unsettled by the sudden change in the older man's behaviour. Dick never so much as slowed down.

"You should at least try to defend your heritage, Grayson!"

….

"Pennyworth does not tolerate suits upstairs!"

* * *

The rain was drumming on his head, and Dick flicked his wrist to get rid of a damp strand of hair that kept falling into his eyes. It was the first movement in what felt like forever.

Years of silent stakeouts and kidnapping had trained Dick to rely on his feeling of time without any devices, and now he guessed he had been standing on the rooftop of Wayne Manor for at least 2 hours. Being up high always helped him calm down and think, and from here, even Gotham looked like a peaceful, beautiful bubble that radiated light.

His feet were aching. It fit well with the pounding of his head and the pain in the shoulder he still hadn't taken care of. After walking out on Damian, Dick had swiftly changed in his room and headed for the roof. Alfred's glare followed him, but the old butler knew him too well – if Dick headed out on the roof at this weather, he needed to think...

...to think about Damian.

Dick sighed, for the upteenth's time. _Damian_. Things needed to change, and they needed to change fast.

He shifted his glance from Gotham to the few plain crosses on the estate that were visible from up here. Bruce's grave still looked out of place to Dick, and it still gave him a pang every time he saw it. It had been almost a year now, and he still wasn't used to Bruce's absence.

Tim was gone, too. Stormed out of the Manor and refused to talk to him. Dick didn't know if he was alive and well, he only hoped that Barbara had an eye on the boy. Jason was off somewhere, far away from Gotham.

That basically left Dick alone in Gotham, alone with Damian. In a town he didn't want to be in with a kid he wasn't able to raise. Who didn't _want_ to be raised by him, most importantly, and let him know at every opportunity.

And Dick was growing sick of it, sick of being sick and tired. He had been running low for a while now, and never seemed to get a break.

_'you'll never be good enough compared to a Wayne.'_

It wasn't by far the first time Damian had thrown that in his face, and like always, Dick couldn't argue – he _wasn't_ as good as Bruce. Damian had never made a secret out of his discontent with the new Batman, and attacking Dick's heritage was common strategy. So his words had cut deep, but the one thing different this time was Dick himself.

He just wasn't up to more fighting, more insults. If he kept going at this rate, Dick knew he would simply collapse. Wayne Industries, Batman, parenting a child and trying to stay Dick Grayson at the same time were wearing him out.

"He didn't mean what he said," a heavy British dialect disturbed his musing. Alfred.

"You heard it?"

Dick turned his head slightly to look at the old butler. Alfred was leaning out of the window of the uppermost story, a few metres away from where Dick stood.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "but I know the two of you. He's angry, Dick, and he doesn't know how to deal with it."

Usually Alfred's counsel helped to calm him down. He usually told him that he did well with Damian and soothed his worries about being a complete failure as a parental figure. The problem was that Alfred had never raised a kid like Damian, as Dick remembered on bad days: Dick had been younger when he came, and too afraid of being sent back to the orphanage to open his mouth. Tim was already a teenager when he came living at the Manor, and Jason had been rough and angry, but never as vicious as Damian could be.

Dick loved the kid, truly, dearly. After all Damian had been through, he wanted to give him a family, a home, and happiness... but slowly but steadily, Dick started to wonder if he was even able to do that.

"He said my folk deserved the _porajmos*._"

_'What happened in Europe was just what you deserved.'_

Alfred let out an audible breath. "An ill timing, only a few days after your parents' death's anniversary. But it only emphasizes what I just said: he didn't mean what he said."

No, he didn't, Alfred was right. Dick knew when Damian was lying, and the boy clearly hadn't had any idea about what he was saying back then. Probably heard it somewhere and used it on this special occasion to hurt him. It stank of Francis Bolton, the head of Bolton & Sons, or maybe Loreena Hughes, Bolton's ex-wife.

Damian had probably been groping for words that hurt him – Dick still didn't know _why_ – and that was even _worse_. Dick could deal with over-dramatic reactions to grounding or wrong decisions in the field. Damian often said things without meaning them or without a complete understanding of the impact his words had. He had not been trained in social skills; but intentionally inflicting pain no matter what was a new, more serious action.

"I don't know what to do with him anymore, Alfred," Dick sighed, turning towards the city's lights again.

"You're doing fine, Master Richard. He'll be a happy child as soon as he grows more comfortable in his new surroundings."

But Damian had been living in 'new' surroundings for about a year now, and his bad behaviour had only increased. Just today he had disappeared into thin air, leaving Dick to roam the streets of Gotham frantically for hours. Every attempt to reach out to the boy had been interrupted with harsh words or harsher actions. After almost a year of trying, Dick was running out of ideas and energy.

"Right now I don't worry about him being happy," he admitted silently. "I just want him to stay alive."

Things needed to change, fast.

-tbc-

* * *

*_porajmos_ (also_ Porrajmos,_ _Pharrajimos_) is the Romani word for the Romani Holocaust. During WWII, 220,00 - 1,500,000 Roma were killed in Europe, though the exact number is impossible to define.

* * *

_R&R, please!_


	2. The Division Bell

**Chapter two: Division bell**

By the time Pennyworth knocked on his door to wake him up, Damian was already roaming through the Internet.

Sleep hadn't come easy yesterday night as mixed feelings had kept him awake. After only a few hours of dozing, Damian finally admitted that he wasn't as proud of himself as he had been a few hours ago. He wasn't able to forget his mother's words or Grayson's shocked expression, and faced with two equally unpleasant issues, Damian decided to deal with the easier one.

Half an hour later, he stared at a desktop full of gruesome pictures and facts that told a bleak story; history class and his grandfather's private mentors had skipped a huge deal of European history, apparently. Damian knew about the devastation and chaos the Second World War had brought over Europe, could name all dates and important battles by heart, and knew about the Holocaust, of course.

He didn't know, though, that the Jews weren't the only ethnic group that had been systematically executed, and he certainly hadn't known that Grayson's ancestors had been part of that hunt and partially immigrated to the United States as soon as they had the chance.

While Damian stared at a propaganda poster on his screen, a feeling stirred in his chest that he couldn't place immediately – probably for the first time in his life, Damian felt ashamed. He shouldn't have said anything like this to Grayson, but more importantly, he shouldn't have repeated the words of a drunken imbecile when he didn't even know what they meant. His mother had taught him better than that, and his grandfather would have had him beaten bloody.

Things didn't improve when Damian arrived at the breakfast table and saw that Grayson was already there, nursing a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

"Grayson," he growled in his usual way of greeting, eyeing the other's body language carefully.

The acrobat was easy to read; since moving was such an integral part of Grayson's personality, his moods and emotions were always visible in his posture. But there was nothing now, and even when Grayson answered with a calm "Good morning, Damian", he wouldn't even drop the newspaper to send him that obnoxious smile.

Still mad, then? No, Grayson wasn't able to shut up when he was mad. He wasn't sulking either, he usually did that with indignant looks and complete ignorance. Damian was more than experienced in enduring Grayson's overbearing emotions, but it was the first time the idiot was actually _quiet. _

"Grayson," Damian called out gravely, steadying himself for what was about to come.

The other man sensed the change of atmosphere and dropped the newspaper, meeting Damian's eyes in quiet expectation. He looked tired, as if he had slept even less than Damian had, and that gave him a twinge of guilty conscience. It was unsettling and unnerving, and while Damian watched the calm figure, he tried to recall why he had snapped like that yesterday. Usually his insults and accusations simply bounced off of Grayson's stubbornness and the older man went on with his sermons unfazed – this time they shut him up for good.

Contrary to public belief, Damian was indeed capable of analyzing his mistakes and failures. He just had no need to do it as openly and dramatically as Grayson or the idiot Drake did. Living with his grandfather and the League had taught him early to be most critical with himself without showing it to the outside world. Living in the Manor on the other hand had confronted him with another role, with Robin. He had, albeit reluctantly, learned about cooperation, and the importance of a healthy relationship between Batman and Robin. He wasn't alone anymore, and cooperation needed a minimum of communication and trust.

"I wish to apologize for my inappropriate comment yesterday night," he said therefore, feeling a blush cover his cheeks while he desperately tried to keep up a confident and proud appearance.

Apologies were a rare thing in Damian's world, and he knew they had the ultimate effect on Grayson, who always tried to teach him humbleness in social interactions. He was surprised therefore when Grayson only raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"I'm listening," he simply said and Damian cursed the other's attentiveness. 'I wish to apologize' was not the same as 'I apologize'.

"I'm sorry," he growled, glaring angrily at the table. "I only grasped the full meaning of my words after I said them."

There, it was out. Damian dared to sneak a look at Grayson's face, and found that the older man was looking back at him pensively.

"...So?"

"So..." Damian was confused now. "...so I apologize for having said those words."

Silence. Uncomfortable, Damian waited for the other man to say anything.

"I know this isn't easy for you, Damian," Grayson finally replied after a while, straightening the paper of the newspaper again. "I appreciate the try."

The silence that followed was only interrupted by the rustling of the newspaper when Grayson held it up again. Damian needed a few moments to understand what the other man had just said and to calm the rage that bubbled up in him right after.

"You don't accept it?" He hissed, but winced when he sounded more like a sulking 5-year-old. He had just _apologized_, goddamnit, what the hell was Grayson's problem?!

"An apology should always be honest, Damian." Grayson folded the newspaper slowly, obviously preparing himself for something. His movements were slow, too slow for the hyperactive acrobat.

"Are you insinuating I didn't mean what I said?" Damian was furious now, furious and confused. He didn't know what was going on.

"You are sorry for saying something you didn't know the meaning of," Grayson stated, leaning forward and sloppily gesturing Damian to finally take a seat, which he reluctantly did. "You are not sorry for the impact it had on me."

"-tt-, that's splitting hairs."

"It's not. Everything you said to me yesterday was deliberately meant to hurt me. You may have gone too far with mentioning Europe, but you are not sorry for the rest. Since your apology only included one comment, it's safe to assume that you're not sorry about hurting me."

Grayson said those things with such freakish calm that Damian could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Batman logic... he was not used to this outside of the capes. He didn't know how to deal with this, so he looked away and crossed his arms defiantly.

"-tt-."

"I'm glad you came to me though, because we really need to talk about yesterday."

"Are you going to lecture me again?" Damian growled, still pissed about that insolent rejection of his apology.

"No," Grayson said joylessly, "I'm pretty tired of wasting my breath on that any more."

Damian flinched unintentionally and tried to read Grayson's expression... without success. The other man displayed no emotion whatsoever, just calm and determined, so un-Graysonlike it made the boy uneasy.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It means that I'm sick and tired of trying to teach you. It's been more than a year and you still won't listen to the simplest things I'm trying to make you see, and honestly I can't take your bratty behaviour anymore. Lord knows I've tried, but you and I know both know it's not working."

Damian stared wide-eyed at the man in front of him. He hadn't expected this, didn't know what to make out of it. He had made a stupid mistake and apologized, hadn't he? What was Grayson aiming for?

"Are you trying to punish me?"

"Ha, because that always worked so well," Grayson chuckled humorlessly. "No, I want you to remember that you came on your own account."

The floor under Damian's feet was shifting, suddenly, and for a terrible moment he feared that he'd lose his balance. Grayson was about to throw him out, send him back to his _mother_, who had just replaced him with a clone. He couldn't go back to her, to his grandfather..

"Are you sending me away?" he whispered hoarsely.

"No. I promised you I'd never do that." – Damian let out a breath he'd been holding – "But I want you to think about why you're here, and that nobody is forcing you to stay."

"I _know_ that."

"Very well. Then tell me what I need to do to keep you here."

Damian stared at him, clueless. Grayson was completely serious, awaiting a reply.

"I don't... understand."

Exasperated, Grayson sighed and leaned back. "Dami, I don't know what to do with you anymore. It's not working out my way, and I don't have the energy left to try further. Maybe you were right all along, and I was wrong to treat you like a child." He smiled at Damian in a sad and rueful way that made him look tired and old. "So we'll try it your way, but you need to tell me what you _want_."

With each word, Damian felt his eyes widen more. Grayson seriously wanted to know what _he_ wanted? Nobody _ever_ had asked Damian about his opinion. Nobody had been interested in what he wanted... but he had always _wanted_ things, wished for things... and then, he understood. Grayson wasn't behaving detached to punish him, he was talking to him like he would to an _adult._

The words sputtered out of him faster than he could comprehend. "Stop calling me Dami. Or Lil' D. My name is Damian. Stop with that ridiculous need for physical contact. Stop treating me like I need protection on patrol. You're _Batman_, try to act like him."

"I can't stop protecting you, you're still my brother." Grayson looked and sounded positively unhappy.

"No, I'm not. We're _not_ brothers, we're _not_ related." Damian's hands were shaking with enthusiasm when he felt that Grayson was actually _listening_ to him for the first time, taking him seriously. "Stop acting as if we are anything else than Batman and Robin. If you'd finally stop acting like an emotional buffoon you could finally be more efficient."

"..that's what you want from me? More_ efficiency_?"

"Yes."

"So basically," Grayson looked gloomily at Damian, voice dripping with discontent, "you want me to be what your mother told you about Bruce."

"_Yes._" Damian had problems hiding his excitement. Grayson had never been this serious in his presence, not even while wearing the cowl – maybe he still had the chance of experiencing a Batman he could take seriously, and maybe his mother would see it and realize that it hadn't been his fault things had gone so wrong in Gotham.

"Are you sure then this is what_ you_ want? It sounds an awful lot like what your mother would want."

"-tt-, I think you should know me well enough by now to answer that question yourself." Damian jerked his gaze away, pissed about Grayson's ability to read him.

"I thought I did, but then again I didn't take you as someone who would parrot a drunken Francis Bolton." Grayson's eyes narrowed dangerously with the last comment and Damian felt the blush creeping over his face.

"I _apologized_," he gritted out between clenched teeth. How did he know it had been Bolton...?

"Yes, you apologized very convincingly to the table, that's true."

Damian refused to reply to that blatant offense, and a long silence stretched between them.

"More efficiency, less cuddling, huh?" Grayson had crossed his arms by now, staring into empty space and visibly trying to figure out how to do that. He looked like a kicked puppy, although not especially surprised. "That will only work if you _listen_ to me, Damian. I can't be more focused on the field if I have to worry about you disappearing or ruining our cover."

Damian nodded, that was true. A small price to pay if that meant that Grayson would finally act up.

"And I'm still legally your guardian. I can only stop acting like it if you stop behaving like a child that needs one. I _have _to appear on your parent-teacher conferences; if you want me to stay away, you have to stop provoking them."

"I will."

"... and you're _sure_ you want this?"

"Yes."

"_Look_ at me. You really want me to stop being your brother?"

Damian looked up like ordered and nodded, never breaking eye contact. Grayson looked back at him closely, probably trying to find any doubt in Damian's well-kept expression. When he found none, he nodded too, albeit grudgingly.

"Master Damian," Alfred suddenly interrupted their silent agreement. "It's time for school. Master Dick, I wish to speak to you before you head to your conference." The butler was collecting the dishes, sending deadly glares into Grayson's direction.

Damian snickered, leaving the room without any superfluous good-byes.

* * *

When Damian returned from school, a list of training exercises awaited him in the Batcave as well as a new case he had to work through. Grayson was nowhere in sight, and when he still wasn't present in the Manor the next day, Damian asked Pennyworth.

"No, I can assure you Master Richard is not 'off somewhere, sulking'," Pennyworth eyed Damian coldly while preparing a dinner for two. "He's attending the bimonthly CEO meeting and will be back in a few days, when it's over."

Damian's brow furrowed. "He never stayed overnight at those."

"He told me he'd be sleeping in his old flat this time, since it would be more convenient."

"This meeting is in Blüdhaven?"

"They all were, but Richard usually wished to spend his evenings with his family."

_Sappy idiot_, Damian thought, but knew better than to voice it loudly in Pennyworth's presence.

The case kept Damian busy for the next few days, and Pennyworth kept an eye on him closely to prevent him from any strictly forbidden solo-flights. The butler was obviously unhappy with his and Grayson's deal, and after his first failed try to talk with Damian, he remained silent about it.

Not that Pennyworth ever was a talkative person, and neither was Damian. Their dinners were filled with silence, which Damian convinced himself was a welcome exception.

On the third day, however, he had to admit that the welcome exception seemed awful close to boredom.

-tbc-

_**A/N:** so, let's make a few things clear. I love Damian. But I think he still has a looong way to go (which DC just made impossible, but we'll ignore that). And I love Dick, and I think he's an awesome big bro/ parent. But Damian isn't easy, and Dick is, at least in my head canon, not as perfect as he is often portrayed in other ffs. Despite all his awesomeness, he has a breaking point, and a looot of temper. Also, that guy has been through so much - he's tough. I can't imagine Dick taking all of Damian's insolence without snapping at some point, so this is the story in which he just says: 'okay, screw everything. Do it your way'. :)_

_Thanks for a very warm reception!_


	3. Lost for Words

**Chapter Three: Lost for Words**

Damian returned to the Manor long after evenfall. He spent more time than necessary looking after his mare after their long ride, and when he walked out of the stables, Grayson's black Lexus was already parked neatly in front of the door.

A rush of excitement hit Damian at the sight – Batman and Robin would finally be hitting the streets again. Even with Grayson's training plan and the case, things had been increasingly boring these past few days. Without Grayson's constant talking, the Manor had been silent, and Damian had noticed for the first time how eerily big and empty the mansion was.

"Ah, Master Damian," Alfred called out to him after he passed the threshold. "Master Dick is awaiting you in the cave."

Anxiously, Damian headed for the grandfather clock. Almost three days had passed since his and Grayson's new deal, and Damian was excited about their next case. He had planned out their mission carefully, going over the files many times to deliver good work. He could only hope that Grayson planned to meet his standards.

Damian's eagerness turned into sheer confusion when two boisterous voices met him after only two steps. There was Grayson, laughing loudly at a story a high-pitched female voice was telling.

"And then she rolled over to him and … and.. oh God, Dick, his _face!_ And Babs -"

"_Fatgirl."_

The two figures whirled around, both with huge grins on their faces. They already wore their costumes, cowls still tucked into their belts.

"Damian, there you are," Grayson greeted, smiling warmly before turning to the screen.

"What is_ she _doing here?" Damian asked spitefully, glaring at Brown. She only smiled back at him, wisely holding her tongue. "When did she arrive?"

"Oh, I picked her up on my way through Gotham," Grayson answered while typing. The file Damian had been working on appeared on the screen. "She'll be helping with the case tonight."

"What?" Damian stared at Grayson's back indignantly. "We don't need help! I already planned a mission."

"Yes, I saw it. I prepared another one in Blüdhaven."

"Your plan was pretty good, Dami!" Brown intervened, sensing the tension that was building between them. Grayson had turned back by now and handed Brown a few devices for her belt.

When Damian grasped that Grayson wouldn't say anything more about his work, he turned around with a '-tt-' and headed for his costume... only to be called back.

"You don't need to change tonight, Damian."

"...am I going undercover?"

"No," Grayson told him, straight-faced, "you're not going out tonight. Steph will be helping me while you work on that kicking technique I showed you last week."

Damian stared at Grayson, at a loss for words, before he fully grasped the impact of his words.

"What?!" he hissed. Grayson was _dismissing_ his plan to work with _Fatgirl?_

"I said, I will patrol with Steph tonight, while you will stay here."

Damian's head jerked towards Brown, who had taken a step backwards and was following their conversation with a confused and anxious expression.

"I thought you told him?" she asked uneasily.

"There was no need."

"'_No need?_'" Damian felt the rage getting the better of him. Grayson was so goddamn disinterested in their argument, it made Damian even more furious than he already was. "Why the hell do you want to take Brown?! Are you trying to punish me?!" Scolding him was one thing; taking Robin was something entirely else.

"Don't be childish, Damian," Grayson narrowed his eyes at him dismissively. "Stephanie is better suited for the job, that is all."

_'All._' The boy could feel his temper taking over. "_What the hell_ are you trying to insinua-"

"The last time you fought the Snake's gangs, they kicked your ass."

The Snake? Damian's eyes widened. The Snake was a gang leader they had been trying to arrest for several weeks now. He was never seen directly, always sending footmen to do his job, but had ultimate control in Gotham's underground scene. And the last time Damian had fought his gangs wasn't a pleasant memory... but he wasn't involved in that case, was he? Damian's eyes wandered towards the screen, and the gear wheels in his brain started turning...oh... _damn_.

"I'm more than capable to fight them, and certainly more than _Brown_ is." He protested, still. On principle.

"No, you're not."

"Need I inform you that I have been trained by the best assassi-."

With an exasperated sigh, Dick typed an order and a video appeared on the screen. With growing terror, Damian recognized a fight scene dated three weeks ago, filmed by a common surveillance camera. Batman and Robin were fighting goons that wore bright red snake patches on the back of their jackets.

"You keep dropping your guard after you attack with Capoeira kicks. Apparently, you don't know yet how to slide into another martial arts style after using a Capoeira technique." Grayson commented the video absentmindedly, while Damian and Brown watched quietly as the Robin on the footage sent one goon flying, only to be taken down by another one after landing on his feet again. The yellow cape disappeared for a moment until Batman threw a batarang at the back of the head of said goon and the boy managed to regain his footing... to Damian's utter horror, the scene repeated itself a few times in different but similar variations, until the dark shadow of the Bat whirled across the fighting scene and knocked out the last gang member.

"He fought well," Brown laughed into the silence, high-pitched and nervous, looking at Damian with a sorry expression.

"Of course I fought well!" Damian's cheeks were burning red. Fatgirl was_ pitying_ him – he couldn't believe Grayson was doing this to him; embarrassing him in front of _Brown_, of all people.

"But he can do better, and I'm sure that the Snake has analyzed our fight as well." Grayson grabbed the cowl from his belt. "We have a rare chance tonight and enough manpower to stop Snake _and_ improve our fighting technique. Damian, you will repeat the technique and tomorrow we will begin with training your Capoeira skills."

"I can still come with you! Why do I need to train this stuff tonight, I can start with it tomorrow!" He sounded like a pleading little kid, and Damian hated it, _hated it._

Grayson was growing impatient, looking at Damian with narrowed eyes. "We'd lose a whole day of your training. Robin, your presence is not required tonight and this is not up for discussion."

_More efficiency. _When Damian finally understood what this was all about, the bile in his throat was bitter and burning. Grayson's logic was flawless, and Damian was in no position to argue, since he had promised to listen. And what did he know, he hadn't even discovered the Snake's involvement in a case he had worked for three days.

When he looked up again, Grayson was already gone, revving up the engine of the Batmobile. Brown was still standing next to him, following Batman's path with an alert expression.

"Wow, Dami, what did you do?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"-tt-, what do you mean, Fatgirl?"

"What I mean? You angered the Buddha! I need to tell that Babs, she always said only Bruce knew how to do that."

"Speak clearly." He didn't understand. Buddha..?

Steph rolled her eyes. "Damian, he's treating you like _Batman_. He _never_ does that, to anybody. His buddies made bets that they couldn't find anything Dick wouldn't forgive! So, what did you do?"

"I..." Damian watched how Brown donned her cowl and looked at him expectantly. "I asked him to."

"What?"

"I asked him to be more like Batman."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's more efficient." Somehow, the words didn't feel as right as they had anymore.

Batgirl remained quiet for a few seconds. "That it is, I guess," she said unconvinced. "Do, uh.. Do you want me to talk with him?"

"-tt-, you're ridiculous, wench."

"Yeah, you're one to talk. I'm off; happy training, brat!"

Batgirl hurried over to the Batmobile, and Damian watched them take off. He was angry: at Grayson for embarrassing him like that, and for bringing in Brown. He wondered if Grayson was doing it to spite him, but then again Fatgirl _was_ a good fighter, even though he would never admit it when she (or anyone else, for that matter) was around. And he wasn't, as that damn video had just proven.

Damian glared back at the screen. Why did Grayson even have that tape? It was three weeks old, and Damian hadn't even glimpsed it until now. The idiot had tried to convince him to revise his Capoeira training together but never mentioned any failing during a mission, and Damian had just shrugged it of with a rude comment.

Damian was angry: at Grayson, at Brown, but most of all at himself.

* * *

Damian awoke the next morning, and after a second of disorientation, he immediately started to worry. There hadn't been any noises to wake him up during the night – Damian's sleep was so light that he woke up every time Batman returned from a solo-patrol and Grayson made his way across the floor and past Damian's room.

Something must have happened, of course, with Brown as support...

But when Damian raced downstairs and almost ran into Alfred, who was as calm as could be, the worry ceased and the confusion grew.

"Master Damian, is there a reason for this hurry?" The butler asked amicably.

Damian scanned the room; no bloody bandages, no puddles of blood or vomit. "Did Grayson return last night? I didn't hear him."

Alfred's lip tugged, tearing at his perfect 'unimpressed British butler' expression. "He did, indeed, Sir."

Something was up, clearly, but Damian decided it couldn't be too serious. He had seen Alfred during times of crises, when he had to stitch up any one of them, and this was certainly not the case right now.

The person in question walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, still in his morning robe, with an obnoxious, lazy smile on his lips.

"Good morning," Grayson greeted them and yawned deeply. He grabbed the coffee pot and reached for the cups.

"Good morning, Master Dick. I take it you had a pleasant night?"

Grayson's smile grew when he looked at Alfred's smirk, and Damian felt seriously out of the loop.

"When did you return last night?!"

"Uh, pretty late, I guess?" Grayson ran a sloppy hand through the mess of hair on his head. "I don't know actually, Steph and I finished off the Snake so fast that we thought we could still use the night to catch up and have fun."

Damian didn't know what to make out of that. Then he spotted a bruise on Grayson's neck and was furiously reminded of the rejection yesterday night.

"You're hurt," he stated. Grayson only stared at him confusedly, pouring coffee. "Your neck. You were attacked."

"I can assure you that was some other kind of attack, Master Damian," Alfred piped up from behind before the other man could reply, and Grayson barked out a laugh and turned red.

"Will the lady join us for breakfast, Master Dick?"

"I don't know, I'll ask her."

Only then did Damian realize that Grayson was holding two cups of coffee in his hands. Dread and disgust welled up in his chest, and Grayson, _the idiot,_ had the indecency to grin broadly.

"You brought a woman?!"

"Uh, yeah. Why are you so angry?"

_Why...? _Damian wanted to explode, to hit something really, really hard. Instead he turned a bright shade of red and gestured to the staircase, over which the portrait of his father and grandparents hung. "You dare soil my father's memory by bringing some _harlot_ into his home and you have the insolence to ask why?"

"Ohh, that's it?" Grayson asked nonchalantly, grabbing a muffin from the counter and trying to balance it with the two coffee cups. He wasn't even sparing so much as a look at Damian's face, but made his way out of the kitchen. "I can assure you we didn't soil your father's memory, only the sheets in the Master Bedroom."

"_GRAYSON!"_

Grayson disappeared, laughing smugly.

* * *

"It's a quiet night."

"Hmmhm."

"That's suspicious."

"Hmm."

Damian stared at Batman, standing still like a statue in the shadows. The city lay sleeping; the patrol had been peaceful, boring, and, most of all, quiet. Without crooks or goons, Batman and Robin hardly had a reason to communicate, and Damian found himself stealing glance after glance at the Bat.

In the black suit, partially hidden in the shadows, Grayson looked every inch like the Batman his mother had told him about. It was ridiculous – Grayson was barely average height and even with heavy boots and a thick layer of Kevlar far from his father's build, but Damian began to understand that Batman wasn't about strength but about darkness. About silent, deep and unforgiving darkness.

This was their second patrol since Damian had demanded Grayson to be more like his father, and the second time Grayson had shown him this type of Batman. The first time, Damian had been sure that Grayson's silence was punishment or sulking, but now? Mother had told him about Batman, the silent, strong figure of the shadows, and Damian had always longed to see him. Now that he did, he found that he didn't like it one bit.

It was scary. Underneath that mask was still _Grayson,_ the over-energized, talkative moron who laughed and flirted and couldn't stay still if his life depended on it. The one who went partying with Brown after patrol. Nothing hinted at him as it usually did. No impatient drumming with his hands, twitches or the usual babbling. Damian found himself unable to bring the two people together in his head and tried, unsuccessfully, to prove to himself that this was still Grayson.

He couldn't see his face properly in the darkness, and no shuffling of feet or rustling of the cape's fabric gave evidence to Grayson's typical impatience. Where he had once questioned Damian about everyday life during boring (and not so boring) patrols, he wouldn't even properly answer Robin now... and Damian realized that this time, it was _him_ trying to get his partner to speak.

And damn, he was _not_ good at initiating a conversation.

"The Snake's not around?"

Damian was a bit surprised to hear himself asking that question – he was still mad about Grayson's rejection and the tape – but was more surprised when he saw that Batman wasn't going to answer him again. He wracked his brain trying to find some topic, anything, about which he could make Grayson talk, while trying to find out _what the hell was wrong with him._

"The Snake will attack soon," Batman growled suddenly, "but their leader is more careful after our ambush."

Hm. Damian desperately tried to find an answer to that. His usual range of possible answers were snarls and insults, and he doubted they would help him now.

"So, uh, whatever happened to Catwoman? Or Harley? Just because the Joker is-"

"Robin," Batman interrupted, emotionless. "_Concentrate._"

It was a direct order, and Damian shut up immediately. Nothing happened further that night, and no other word was spoken between them.

-tbc-

_A/N: Stephanie, hell yes! I needed someone with whom Dick would hit the nightlife after patrol, and I think Steph is just perfect for that. I think those two could be very close friends if they'd ever had the chance... and also, she fits into my 'f*** you DC!' mood :) _

_The lady Dick brought home will be an issue in the next chapter, don't worry. I just can't see Batman and Robin arguing over One Night Stands on the rooftops..._


	4. Poles Apart

**Chapter 4: Poles Apart**

Grayson hurried into the room, a business-like smile already on his face and hands raised as if surrendering.

"Whatever he did this time, I'll pay the damages."

Damian glared moodily, but refrained from saying anything as Grayson shook Headmaster Carson's hand and sat down next to his protégé. Carson leaned back in his chair and cast an unamused glare across the broad desk.

"That's a relief, Mr Grayson, -"

"-Richard."

"... Richard. Though I fear we've reached a point where even your wallet will not be enough."

Damian could feel Grayson's gaze shifting to him, for the first time since he came into the headmaster's office. "What happened?"

"He picked a fight,_ again_. He broke the other boy's nose and damaged school property."

"Damian..." Grayson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He deserved it! He said that..." Damian trailed off when he saw that both adults were glaring at him. _Damnit._

"Richard, I have to inform you that Ms Hughes threatened with legal consequences."

"_Loreena _Hughes?" Grayson's eyes narrowed when he turned to Damian. "You beat up James _Bolton_?"

"He deserved it," Damian repeated, gritting his teeth.

"What the hell where you thinking?!" Damian winced at Grayson's hiss, but luckily for him Mr Carson came to his rescue.

"I'd like to speak with you alone this time, Richard."

The two on the other side of the desk both flinched – this was new. Calls to Mr Carson's office had been plentiful, but this was a new turn of events. After a few seconds, Grayson turned to Damian and handed him the keys to the Lexus.

"Wait in the car."

Damian snatched the keys and turned away abruptly, marching out of the office without any good-byes to the headmaster. He heard Grayson sigh at that again and stormed out of the school, running through the gates and flipping into the bushes that lead to the Carson's office.

It was a warm day and the window was open; noiselessly Damian sneaked right under it, anxious to hear what they were talking about.

"- know how to deal with the loss of his father," he heard Grayson's voice and resisted the urge to growl. What sappy bullshit was he telling Carson?.

"Yes, I thought about that too, but... Richard, how are _you_ dealing with the loss of your father?"

Grayson didn't answer, and Damian didn't dare to sneak a look through the window. Carson was sitting with his back to it, but Grayson would definitely see him. Damian didn't know how he'd react and wouldn't risk it.

He strained to hear Grayson's answer, but couldn't make anything out. Instead, Carson's voice piped up again.

"How old were you when you started to attend this school, Richard? Nine? I remember that you also mourned your parents' deaths, but you never reacted as violently as Damian does... How old are you now, Mr Grayson?"

The question irritated Damian as well as Grayson, apparently, who needed a few seconds to answer with an uncertain voice.

"25. What does that have to do with anything?"

"That's awful young for mourning the death of two fathers." Grayson remained quiet. "Or for running a company like Wayne Enterprises and raising a child like Damian."

Damian felt his hands ball into fists. 'A child like Damian'? What did he mean by that?

"Are you trying to say that I'm unfit for parenting my brother, Mr Carson?" There was an edge of annoyance in Grayson's voice, but it was almost completely drowned in tiredness.

"Honestly? I think you are in a very exhausting situation and Damian's problem with authority doesn't exactly help."

Grayson chuckled humorlessly, a sound that cut Damian to the core. He didn't have a problem with authority, he had been listening to authority all his life. He had a problem with idiots that thought themselves superior but weren't. Like Grayson, or Carson, or that little shit James Bolton.. Grayson knew that, and Damian was angry when he realized that he wasn't defending him.

"I thought about giving you these earlier, but I never liked to interfere with my student's private life too much. Maybe it's due now."

There was a rustling sound – paper. Damian was dying to know what it was.

"That's your solution?" Bewilderment? Amusement? Shock? Damian tried in vain to identify that tone in Grayson's voice. Whatever it was, it didn't sit well with him, a small, dizzy feeling of fear knotted into his stomach.

"It's up to you, Richard. We will have to record this incidence in Damian's file, I fear. I trust you will discuss the matter with Ms Hughes?"

Damian didn't await Grayson's answer but darted back through the bushes. By the time he had reached the parking lot, his mentor was already leaning against the Lexus and awaiting him. And he looked pissed.

The boy handed him the keys wordlessly, and they climbed into the car. Only after the school vanished behind a hill and the car took a swing off the main street did Damian try to break the silence.

"Bolton deserved it."

"...You already said that."

Grayson's tone was detached and cold, and he wouldn't even shift one glance at Damian like he usually did. _Very effective driving_, Damian thought with spite and felt a thorough hate for the word 'efficiency' and all its derivations growing.

"He told the younger kids that all countries in the Middle East breed terrorists."

"Oh yes, Loreena and Francis weren't very subtle with their xenophobia. I'm sure kids pick up those vibes pretty quickly."

Damian had the decency to flinch at the jab. He had hoped Carson might not tell Grayson the name of the boy whose nose he had broken, but of course Grayson had made the connection between James Bolton, his mother Loreena Hughes and her ex-husband Francis Bolton immediately. Damian didn't know how he would get out of this one – Bolton had made more than one racist comment in school, but today it had hit _his_ origins, and he had snapped.

A sigh pulled him out of his musing. Grayson had slumped in his seat, stopping the car at a red light.

"What technique did you use? Anything suspicious?"

"No. I just punched him on the nose."

"And broke it. What the hell, Damian, it wasn't even fair and you know it. That kid didn't stand a chance against you..."

"Really?" Damian heard himself asking, a strange, warm feeling floating through his belly. It felt like ages since Grayson had said anything _positive_ to him, and he found it oddly comforting. "He's a head bigger than I am."

"Is this still about Hanna?"Grayson asked out of the blue.

Immediately, Damian snorted. _Hanna._ The woman Grayson had spent the night with. The _harlot _that had indeed sat down at the breakfast table and had had the indecency to chit-chat with Pennyworth as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

"What about her?"

"You tell me. You've been sulking all morning, while she was nothing but nice and polite towards you."

_Nice and polite_ – Damian felt like retching. The way she had dared to talk down to him like to a child, to lay a hand on Grayson's arm when Pennyworth told her about the history of the Manor. Of course Grayson wouldn't see her insolence, the way he had smiled at her and _kissed her goodbye_ had obviously proven that she must have somehow bewitched him.

"-tt- your carnal desires obviously blind you if you think that harlot was anything else than dull and stupid. Did you ever think that she could have been a spy?"

Grayson, the stupid, dimwitted, idiotic _imbecile_ started laughing. Damian's cheeks turned hot. "Ha, Damian, I can assure you that I check all the women I have 'carnal desires' for about possible spying activities."

"_All the women?!"_

He must have turned a worrisome shade of red, for Grayson's laughter turned into a soft smile after he glanced at him. Damian was gritting his teeth by now – angry at that insinuation Grayson had just made, angry at himself for parroting him with all the incredulity he just felt. '_All the women'_, Jesus Christ..

"Hanna wasn't the first woman I met since you came to live with us."

"You're lying. I never saw another woman before."

"That's because I didn't spend those nights at the manor... Or days. Whatever."

Damian looked at Grayson out of the corner of his eye. He was still looking bemused, a small smile on his lips, closer to the Grayson he was used to.

"Why?" he demanded thus.

A sigh, and the amused expression turned into tiredness again. "Because you don't mix well with strangers. Especially not with women. I didn't want to put you into an awkward position."

"-tt-, how considerate of you. I can assure you that I'll inform you as soon as any position seems 'awkward' to me." This one now was. Why the hell were they talking about women, anyway?!

"Hmm, it was awkward for _me_ when Bruce showed up with his flings."

"My father did _not_ –!" Damian couldn't finish the sentence. Grayson's words were becoming more and more ridiculous and insolent, and Damian wouldn't take any false accusations against his father. "You're lying."

"I'm not. There's a lot you don't know about Bruce. You should begin to face that."

"Don't tell me what I should do!" Spite was dripping from his voice as he fell back into his usual modus operandi

"Jeez, calm down. Stay in pre-puberty for all I care." He couldn't see it, but Damian just knew that Grayson was rolling his eyes. "Just tell me if the situation is too awkward for you, okay?"

"I've adjusted to far worse since I came to live with _you_. Your inconsistent policy regarding women is not a surprise." That damn paternalistic tone in Grayson's voice was reason enough to slip back into his usual insults, but he tried to keep them at bay. He had promised to be not as childish as earlier, after all.

"Yeah, right." Grayson sounded pissed. "Remember that _you_ asked me for that 'inconsistency'."

"What are you talking about, Grayson?"

"You wanted me to stop acting as if we're related."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, Damian...Did you ever consider that my life changed too after you came to Gotham? You're not the only one who had to adjust his lifestyle."

He wouldn't explain it further, but Damian had gotten the message anyway and turned towards the window, trying to understand. Grayson's life had been a lot different when he had been Nightwing. He had 'adjusted his lifestyle' to Damian's presence – to what the idiot had believed was a little brother he needed to play mother hen to.

Damian had asked him for two things: a more serious Batman and to stop with the big brother act. Grayson had heeded both wishes, and had stopped playing the big brother... and therefore had gone back to being the Dick Grayson Damian had actually never known. The one who hit the party scene with Brown and picked up women.

_'My life changed too after you came to Gotham.' _Damian stared at the passing scenery and tried to fight the bile that rose in his throat. There was a lot more subtext he didn't understand because he didn't know much about Dick Grayson's life. Never cared much to know.

They turned into the manor's driveway. Without another word, Grayson left the car and Damian followed him, a few steps behind. He was still deep in thoughts as they entered the Manor, confused and angry about everything and nothing, and didn't notice when Grayson started to talk to him again.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to give you these," Grayson rummaged in his pocket, and the familiar rustling of paper was heard as he drew his hand back full of a bunch of brochures. "Your headmaster gave them to me. I'm not a big fan of those, but maybe you like it better than staying with me. Your call."

Grayson turned away and left Damian alone with the brochures. The first one was about a military boarding school, the second one a boarding school for 'children with behavioural problems'. There was a whole bunch of those, all promoting the idea of sending him away.

Damian's throat felt dry. This was Carson's advice to Grayson? To send him away?

"_I think you are in a very exhausting situation and Damian's problem with authority doesn't exactly help." _– Carson's words came to his mind. He tried to get angry, but couldn't. Why was he referring to an 'exhausting situation'? Grayson was the goddamn Batman, the heir to billions of dollars and wouldn't have to work a day in his life if he ever decided to sell the company he only held on to for some sentimental reason.

Damian skimmed through the package absentmindedly. A small sheet of paper slipped out from between the pages and floated to the ground. He caught it instinctively, turning it around to find Carson's handwriting and a few telephone numbers. _'Specialist contact persons for overexerted parents in Gotham_', the writing said.

Damian felt sick. At least, now he knew what kind of 'exhausting situation' the headmaster had meant.

* * *

"Higher."

A kick, a curse, and then he hit the mat.

"I said _higher_. Again."

Damian growled, got up and kicked... only to land on the ground again.

"Again."

He was panting by now, even though Grayson hadn't even broken into sweat yet. Frustrated, Damian lunged for the escrima stick in his mentor's hand, only to land on his back a second later. When he didn't get up immediately, he could hear Grayson shifting out of his defensive stance.

"You need a break."

"I don't," Damian gritted through his teeth and hefted himself up again. His opponent looked down at him unimpressed, and Damian charged again, jumped, and kicked. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the mat, blinking at the ceiling of the cave.

_God damnit!_

"You need to twist your hip while ju-"

This time, Damian was already flying through the air while Grayson was still in mid-sentence, twisting and kicking and hit the escrima stick exactly where he was supposed to. He used the momentum, twisted again and flipped backwards, landing on his feet again.

_Hell yes, _he did it! Not able to contain the grin, he turned towards Grayson, self-sufficient and proud.

"Again."

_What the –?_ Damian's face fell. Grayson wasn't so much as smiling. They had been training this damn technique for over an hour now, and Damian had just gotten it right. He had worked hard to accomplish it, and the bruises and cuts from hitting the mat and the ecrima stick again and again hurt pretty bad.

All the while, Grayson hadn't so much as smiled at him, or encouraged him. Nothing but _'again'_, _'higher'_ and _'you need to twist'_. It was beyond frustrating, and Damian grew angrier with every failed attempt.

Through the anger and frustration, another feeling shone through, one which Damian couldn't yet identify. Every time he landed on that mat, hurting and awaiting an emotionless 'again', he remembered another sentence:_"That kid didn't stand a chance against you..."_

Damian remembered with disgust how his heart had soared. _"Really? He's a head bigger than I am"_ – God, as if Grayson cared about some trivial fact like that. Why had he said that? It had taken him two long training sessions to understand... and he didn't like the conclusion at all: he had been fishing for compliments.

It had been the last time Grayson had come remotely close to giving him praise, _approval._ The first time in a while, since Damian asked him to stop being a sappy nuisance. Before, Grayson had always told him how well he had done on patrol, or during training, and even when he came home with a good grade out of that ridiculous school. Apparently, he had gotten too used to that.

"You need to focus, Robin."

Grayson's voice pulled him out of his musing. The older man was looking down at him from the other side of the mat, expression blank, almost bored. Damian hated it. He had just gotten a new technique; why the hell couldn't Grayson so much as _smile_ at him? And apart from that –Robin? His name was _Damian_, for heaven's sake.

"I don't need to do it again," Damian spat out defiantly. "I want to have a real training session_. _Direct combat."

Grayson looked unimpressed. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

But Damian was already sprinting towards him. In the course of only a few seconds, kicks and punches were raining down on his mentor, though none of them actually hit. Grayson was sliding out of reach of his punches, flipped away from his kicks.

"Robin."

Damian jumped, aimed, and kicked with full force at Grayson's stomach. Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed his ankle and hauled him into the mat, with only a slight twist of the wrist, using Damian's own momentum.

"_Robin._"

_Robin_. Why wasn't he using his name, all of sudden?! He was at it again, determined, angry. The coward was slipping away from his punches, blocked, but never fought back.

"Fight me!" Damian panted, stepping away swiftly to gain distance. "You're not taking me seriously."

Grayson looked annoyed, even sad. "I'm taking you very ser-"

"Take up your second escrima stick, then!"

He was determined, and Grayson acknowledged it, finally. He shifted into a fighting stance, but made no move to get his second stick.

"Take up the second escrima stick."

"Make me."

With a frustrated battle cry, Damian launched. He half-expected Grayson to flip out of his reach, but the man stood firm, waiting for Damian to land the first punch. It got blocked directly, and Damian barreled with all the energy he put into the punch into Grayson's body... if it weren't for a firm hand that grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

"You're dead."

"I'm not," Damian hissed, but saw the escrima stick, pointed at his throat, which he would have run straight into if Grayson hadn't stopped him.

"Get your second stick."

"I won't need it."

A second charge, Damian flipped over Grayson's extended arm and tried to get at his back. He kicked into thin air, only seeing a blur of colour in the corner of his eye, before a light push at his back send him stumbling onto the mat. Before he could get up again, a boot pressed onto his neck and kept him firmly in place.

"Dead. You're not paying attention to the muscle twitches that announce my movements."

He charged again.

"Dead."

Again.

"Dead. That's enough, Damian."

Again.

"Damian, what is this about?"

He blocked another punch, and Damian twisted to hit his solar plexus... but kicked into nothing. Grayson had somersaulted behind him, crossing his arms.

"You're angry."

"World's greatest detective, huh?" Damian grunted and attacked again.

"You need to contain your emotions."

Damian's knee almost hit Grayson's chest, but his leg was twisted and pushed aside. "Why?" He panted.

"It makes you predictable."

"You think?" Damian had foreseen the turn of Grayson's torso, aimed a kick and... was suddenly flipped into the air, twisted around, and tried unsuccessfully to grunt in pain when an elbow slammed into his stomach and expelled all air from his lungs.

"Yes."

He hit the ground hard, without any opportunity of breaking his fall. The pain in his stomach made him sick, the bile in his mouth was too much to swallow, and then he was retching and vomiting Pennyworth's dinner over the floor of the cave.

_Ugh._

A warm hand was placed on his back, rubbing soothing circles. Grayson was sitting on the floor next to him, looking into the opposite directions to give Damian at least some degree of distance.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Grayson asked quietly.

"No," Damian panted, drawing a shaky arm over his lips and staring at the disgusting puddle he just produced.

"You're mad at me, and I don't know why." Grayson made no motion of leaving him, and when he turned his head to look at his protégé, Damian jerked his gaze away. He could feel his cheeks turning red; God, this was embarrassing.

"It's not about you," he mumbled.

With a lot of willpower, he managed to lean back on his knees, and then tried to stand up on shaky legs. His stomach, still hurting from Grayson's punch, lurched immediately.

"Don't get up already -" Grayson hurried to intervene, grabbing Damian's shoulder and trying to push him down. Out of instinctive, Damian batted the hand away, none-too-gently. The slap echoed through the cave.

Grayson stared at him in shock, drawing his hand back as if bitten by a snake. "... no touching, right.." he mumbled, distraught, rubbing his wrist.

Damian turned away, tired of everything. His head was spinning, his stomach still hurting. He needed to get away from Grayson, from the cave. He hadn't meant to swat the hand away like that; it had been an unconscious reaction.

"_My life changed too after you came to Gotham."_

_'Specialist contact persons for overexerted parents in Gotham'_

"_I've adjusted to far worse since I came to live with _you._"_

… maybe he _did_ need a break.

-tbc-

_**A/N:** I didn't plan this chapter at all, I just wrote it when I realized that I still needed time to figure out the 'actual' chapter 4, in which things will get serious. I didn't want to let you wait, so this 'intermission' chapter is the result.. and hey, I like it. We're about half way through the story, and I want to thank you again for your nice feedback. If we ever reach 100 reviews, I might think of a thank you- treat :). _

_Someone asked if this story takes place in the same 'verse as Lifelines. No, I didn't intend it to, though I guess it doesn't really makes any differences.. btw, I updated my profile and added a section about my stories, their progress, etc. If you are interested in knowing what's going on with Lifelines or Interferences or whatever, please have a look at it._

_Also:_ Poles Apart _is my absolutely favourite Pink Floyd song, and every Dick Grayson fan should know it. I mean, come on: "Why did we tell you that you were always the Goldon Boy? And I never thought that you'd lose that light in your eyes." _- sigh.


	5. What do you want from me?

**A/N: **_Ugh, long chapter is long. Damn, I love it, and I'm super excited about your reactions. You remember the half-assed warning at the beginning of the first chapter? That was mainly for this one. Lots of swearing and other stuff. Yeah._

_Also, there will be a lot talking about cars all of sudden... and I have absolutely_ _no knowledge about cars. I couldn't for the life of me think of another American car brand other than Lexus, so I hope that German car brands are as popular in the States as there are in Europe. And, dude, is it really 'Benz' in North America? We call it Mercedes. But actually it should be Daimler-Benz... Or Mercedes-Benz. Daimler Chrysler?_ _Just Chrysler?_ WTF?_ I live in THE city where Mercedes/Benz/whatever and Porsche (it's called Porsche, right?!) come from, but I have_ no_ idea... LOL. (It's also the city where Loki tried to take over the world, but that's a different story ;) ) Sorry. Rambling out._

* * *

**Chapter 5: What do you want from me?**

The orange one prowled around his legs, demanding attention. With a sigh, Damian knelt down and patted her head, never taking his eyes off the empty window ledge. The spotted one was still missing, even though she had been so punctual over the last week. Damian worried.

He didn't know where the cats had come from at first; a week ago the orange one had been sitting on the window ledge behind his closed window and had eyed his chicken sandwich closely. She was back the next day, jumping into the room fearlessly, and on the next day the spotted one had trailed in behind her.

Damian had been amazed at how trusting they were. After the second time he fed them his dinner they started to occupy his bed, his lap, and his attention. By now he had figured out that they came from the roof – the days were long and warm, and the cats probably used the roof's heated tiles to lie in the sun. They climbed the big tree on the east side onto the roof and then jumped over the window ledges to his room.

A mew directed his attention back to the window. A small spotted ball of fur looked at him cheekily.

"There you are," he whispered, relieved. He had saved some of his dinner for her, even though it had been quite tricky to keep the orange one from devouring it.

At first he had been worried that someone might burst into his room and shoo his visitors away, but he soon realized how unlikely that was. Pennyworth had no reason to come to his room after dinner and Richard... just didn't.

Damian shook his head and tried to think about something else. The spotted cat was looking at him eagerly, and Damian sat on his bed obediently and let her jump onto his lap. The orange one was jealous immediately and rubbed her head against his arm.

The orange one, the spotted one... he really should think of some names for them, but he couldn't find any that fit. And no, he really shouldn't, since they weren't _his_ cats.

He wished they were, though. He felt better since they had started to visit him, less lonely, and he was looking forward to their purring all day. He had had half a mind to ask Grayson if he could keep them, but it had become harder and harder for him to speak with his guardian.

They were still training, yes, with Richard beating the shit out of him each time (at Damian's insistence), and they were still patrolling. They weren't talking though, not really. Apart from Batman and Robin, Richard left Damian alone. Either he was working until late or he was out meeting friends or speaking with them over the phone.

Damian didn't like to admit it, but it stung every time Grayson walked past his room, chuckling at something Oracle or Fatgirl or whoever blared into the speaker said. He had needed a week to admit it to himself, and Damian still had fits of defiance in which he completely ignored all of it.

Damn Grayson and his stupid expression when he spotted him. At first Damian thought he was bored from the training that wasn't very exhausting for the Bat, but after a few days he found that Grayson's expression was more... sad? Or was it disappointment? But he hadn't done anything to disappoint him; in fact his fighting skills had improved a lot in this short time.

He was patting the cats now and tried very hard not to glance at Carson's brochures in the bin. Grayson hadn't mentioned them again and Damian sure as hell wouldn't. He couldn't get the headmaster's words out of his head, though, and tried to analyze them all week.

Maybe he _had_ overreacted a little bit, back in the cave.. but he had apologized, damn it! Apologizing was a big thing for Damian, and Grayson knew that. He didn't know how else he should try to make things right. Damian didn't like the conclusion he had arrived at at the end of the week, but he was too honest with himself to ignore it. He _missed_ the old Grayson. It was ridiculous and strange, since 'the old Grayson' paraded in front of him every day, fooling around on the telephone and annoying Pennyworth. What really hit Damian was the fact that he changed character immediately when he spotted Damian.

He had asked him to. Demanded it, actually. And no, Damian didn't want to miss the new Batman efficiency he was experiencing on patrol now. Gotham had noticed the changed Bat, too, and the really bad villains were seriously unsure about any coup right now. Damian had gotten stronger and Richard didn't return with so much as a scratch anymore...

Shit, why couldn't he have both?!

The spotted cat had left his lap and sulkily Damian watched it explore his room. He really needed a name. Maybe he should ask Grayson, he knew how the man loved animals. He would surely demand to spend time with the cats in his room and spoil and pamper them like he did with his elephant at the circus. It would be nice to see him smile in his vicinity for a chance.

Damian was just about to ponder if that was worth a horrible name like 'Captain Fluff' or 'Mister McPurr' when the orange cat started to sharpen her claws at the trousers of his neatly ironed suit. Cursing, he jumped up and shooed the cat away, which growled at him dismissively and jumped back onto the window ledge. The suit was fine, thank God. Pennyworth would kill him. He needed to be presentable tomorrow at the big party, since Richard needed him to entertain the guests while he was investigating.

Damian grimaced involuntarily as he thought about the next day. Grayson had been super-proud of himself for the plan he had come up with, and Damian had to admit (never to Grayson) that it wasn't a bad idea. Last week, Richard had met up with Loreena Hughes and Francis Bolton to apologize for Damian's outburst at school. Damian's teeth still ground together when he thought about the look those two had probably given him.

When he asked him, Richard had just laughed smugly and said it was precisely this contempt towards him had helped him with the next step. Loreena and Francis owned a big company, Bolton Technology, that had just recently experienced a slump in sales thanks to a disastrous product recall and needed money. Their main focus lay on cars – and with all the acting skills Grayson could muster, he had convinced them what a huge fan of luxury automobiles he was. He had offered them a temporary cooperation, a research project founded by Wayne Enterprises to improve ecological sustainability in traditional car brands.. because apparently, Dick Grayson had always been a huge fan of Rolls Royce.

Damian had to smile at that. Until a week ago, Grayson hadn't spent a moment in his life thinking about cars. He would drive a shaggy old second-hand car if it weren't for Father, who regularly presented him with a new expensive car for his birthday. The son of the richest man in Gotham could hardly drive around in something else than a Lexus, a Benz, or a Porsche. The last week's evenings were therefore spent with Pennyworth trying (vainly) to teach Richard the inner workings of a car motor.

Bolton and Hughes were ecstatic – they wouldn't have to file for bankruptcy, and in turn, they could hardly sue Grayson for Damian and James' incident at school. A win-win situation, Richard had called it with a relieved smile, and the party announcing their cooperation was the icing on the cake: Grayson was one hundred percent sure that he would catch the Snake tomorrow evening.

The Snake had a thing for costly automobiles. The gang was always driving around on self-made tuned bikes, full of expensive and very rare spare parts of luxury car brands. There was a huge black market for automobile parts blooming in Gotham, and since the Snake had become active, it was booming. An increasing demand for Rolls Royce apparently had ripped through the scene lately, and the car brand had suffered terrible assaults in Gotham for a few weeks now: the car houses were robbed by the Snake, innocent drivers stopped and thrown out of their cars, sometimes shot on open streets, and the factories were deserted. Gotham's Rolls Royce was only minutes away from turning its back on the town, if it weren't for one CEO of Wayne Enterprises who offered to support the brand financially overnight.

Grayson was on TV now in an infinite loop. He smiled charmingly in interviews and gave the most insolent, arrogant answers he could come up with when asked about the Snake. He was mocking them publicly, openly daring them to try to stop the wealthiest enterprise on this side of the country... while at home, he was practically bouncing with excitement and pride about his master plan (that was, until he saw Damian and then stopped being merry altogether). He had bought some of the rarest, ridiculously expensive Rolls Royce special editions models he could find and was about to present them to Gotham's high society tomorrow. The sales had slipped into Gotham's underground days before they had been signed, of course.

All in all, Grayson was presenting the gang an opportunity to show its claim over Gotham on a silver plate. They couldn't let it slip. He was one hundred percent sure that they would show up, either dressed as guests to secretly snoop around and get a grip on the situation, or they would simply try to steal the cars. Damian thought it most likely they would try to get at Grayson personally, but he refrained from saying that out loud. Richard probably knew, anyway. It was why he wanted to stay low profile during the party for as long as possible, listening to conversations and observing the guests,

while it was Damian's task to play the host, to keep the innocent in eyeshot. One Wayne had to play the high society 'playboy', and Grayson had answered to Damian's protests only with a dry "You're surely a more worthy Wayne than I am." He had shut up afterwards.

It was a good plan; the provocation had been thorough and a Wayne-party was long overdue. The only thing Damian resented was his own part in it, or better said, his non- existent part in it. It was as if Grayson didn't need him to fulfill his plans, and since Damian had seen him fighting when he didn't pay attention to what Robin was doing, he was inclined to believe it. When he tried to argue against it, Grayson simply overran him with an overwhelming list of details and reasons why it would be more efficient, faster or cleaner if Damian stayed at home or stayed back during fights.

There was a loud bang when the Manor's front door was suddenly slammed shut, and almost immediately did the loud, booming voice of Roy Harper echo through the Manor.

Damian closed his eyes and cursed inwardly, while both cats flinched and ran to the window, waiting for Damian to open it again. He did so reluctantly, patting them one last time while listening to the voices – West was there, too. Awesome. There was no patrol tonight since they couldn't risk any injuries or suspicious bruises for tomorrow's performance, and apparently Grayson had used the night off for a little get-together with his most embarrassing Titans-buddies.

As if on clue, a shattering sound was heard and then Grayson's boisterous laugh broke the ensuing silence. Damian remembered Richard's words from the car drive days ago: _"You don't mix well with strangers." – _Damian had always known that Grayson kept close contact with his friends, even though he had never invited them to the Manor before. They usually phoned or met somewhere else; Damian had seen West a few times when he came around to pick Grayson up to disappear together to Star City or wherever Harper was waiting for them.

Now they were here, regardless of Damian's distaste of strangers in the Manor. They knew about Batman, so actually there wasn't anything he could say against it... but he still didn't like it. God, they were loud. From the sound of it, they had crashed in the living room, close to the staircase to the first story and annoyingly close to Damian's room.

Grayson was telling them something. Damian couldn't make out the words, but he sounded excited, and the other two kept laughing at the short pauses. What was he telling them? Damian found himself drawn to the noise, now that the cats were gone and nothing in his room kept him occupied.

In socks he walked down the hall, and found a spot right behind the banister where he could see the three men without them spotting him. Not that they tried; they were completely occupied with themselves. Damian could make out their voices now clearly.

Damian didn't know why he was doing what he was doing. West, Harper and Grayson were loitering around on the couch with a few bottles of beer on the floor beside them, and casually talked about their former teammates, their kids or missions. It didn't really interest Damian – Harper never counted as a serious superhero in Damian's opinion and the Flash's missions were duller than any riddle the Riddler could come up with. But still, he found his eyes glued on his mentor, who kept peeling off the label of his beer bottle and threw pillows at West when he wasn't looking. He was so relaxed; Damian didn't know if he had ever seen him like that before.

They were laughing over some silly story about the Penguin's most recent failure, when West suddenly leaned back into the cushions and grabbed one of snack bowls. "Dude, when was the last we actually saw you without the cowl or outside of the League's headquarters?"

"Ugh, Wally, don't ask. I swear, Gotham is so fucked up, I can't even tell you how many super-villains I caught in the last month."

"You should let us help you," Harper interjected, and Damian froze when West joined in the idea.

"Yes, dude, how awesome would that be?! We haven't patrolled together since the old days!"

Grayson smiled fondly. "That would be awesome," he reminisced, "but you know the rules: no Capes in Gotham."

Damian let go of a breath.

"That was B.'s rule. _You're_ the Batman now, you can make your own rules!"

"I don't know, it's kind of a tradition, isn't it? We keep our cities to ourselves, right?"

"Ohhh, I know what this is about..." Harper suddenly cooed with a sly, broad grin. "You're afraid that _Kara_ would catch a whiff and come along too!"

Grayson turned deep red and started to grin too. "Bullshit."

"Oh my God_,_ I_ knew_ there was something going on!" West threw a pillow at Grayson, which he deflected easily. "I want to know _everything!"_

"Nothing was going on! She had a crush on me and that's it." But Grayson's grin was so wide it completely contradicted everything he said.

"Dude, you need to stop doing that!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Seriously, Dick, my daughter is only five years old and already wants to marry you. What kind of guys will she bring home when she's in her teens?!" Harper theatrically rolled his eyes.

They were fooling around like that for a while longer, and just when Damian stood up to go back to his room, Harper suddenly introduced a change in topic.

"Hey, where's your little demon spawn?"

"Damian?" Said boy flinched when Richard answered, growling at Harper's nickname. "He's in his room, I guess. Or maybe he's training?"

"So it's true?" West disappeared for a nanosecond and then appeared on the couch again, closer to Grayson than before. "_RoysaidthatOlliesaidthatDinahsaidthatOraclesaidtha tBatgirlsaid_ you finally threw in the towel!"

Like Damian, Harper and Grayson both needed a second to catch up with the Speedster.

"That's a bit exaggerated. We merely changed our.. approach to each other."

"What's that supposed to mean? Is it true or not?"

Damian leaned closer to hear Grayson's reply.

"I realized that he really doesn't want me fussing all over him, so I stopped. He wants me to be a better Batman, so I concentrate on that."

Harper and West looked at each other with concerned expressions. "That doesn't sound like you at all, Dick.."

Damian felt his hands ball into fists. What did those two idiots think who they were?!

"I don't want him to run back to Talia or his grandfather. It's not working out any other way. He's listening to me right now and that's as good as it gets between us."

A lump formed in Damian's throat. He couldn't run back to his mother, but Grayson didn't know that. As good as it gets.. did he really think that? Was _he_ happier with their arrangement now?

"Huh, he _is_ an insolent brat, after all," Harper mused and West nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, I totally don't understand how you managed it so far."

"Not well, obviously." Grayson was smiling bitterly, and it cut Damian to the core. "He practically bleeds a need to be accepted, but at the same time he keeps rejecting me."

"It's not like he's feeling the love right now, Dick, if what Steph says is true..."

Grayson sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's not working, Wally. I'm trying to figure something out, but he really doesn't make things easy..."

Damian turned away and left for his room. He was staring at the floor as he walked, lost in thought. He was mad. Hurt, for whatever reason. Grayson's stupid words were following him, even as he opened his window and whistled vainly for the cats to return.

He was thinking about some other 'solution' for their situation? Damian gritted his teeth. What could that be? Why wasn't he satisfied with Damian's performance? He had kept his side of the deal, hadn't he? His gaze wandered back to the boarding school brochures Carson had given his mentor. Grayson had skimmed through them in the office, Damian was sure of it. Perhaps he didn't want Damian to return to his mother, but he hadn't said anything about boarding school.

Suddenly, Damian felt very, very tired. He didn't want to leave the Manor; he didn't have anywhere else to go. But Grayson obviously didn't want him around anymore. After Damian had asked him to stop playing the big brother, Grayson had simply dropped the facade; the looks he was sending in his direction were proof enough. He had had a whole life in Blüdhaven, after all, and he never made a secret out of his distaste about taking up the cowl. Grayson clearly didn't want to be in Gotham, looking out for 'an insolent brat'...

Damian's gaze wandered to the suit he had to wear tomorrow. To entertain Grayson's guests..._ no_, Damian thought, balling his hands into fists – he would stop the Snake sooner than Grayson would. Whether they went undercover to check out the situation or tried to steal the cars, he would get them before Grayson would ever be able to catch up.

Damian smiled wickedly, running a hand over the suit's fabric. He would prove his worth to Grayson, and then the idiot would eat his words and try to apologize to_ him._

* * *

The party noises were blaring through the window, all that dull and dimwitted smalltalk accumulating into a barrage of stupidity. God, Damian hated those parties.

He was in an exceptionally bad mood this evening; getting away from the high society guests had been tougher than expected, and Grayson had disappeared at the first opportunity. They all had heard about his little incident with the son of the new partner of Wayne Enterprises, and everyone thought it to be extremely funny and wanted to hear his own account of the story. It was beyond frustrating to stay nice to so much idiocy. Not to mention _Francis Bolton_, the moron who had initiated the entire mess Damian was in, who had been laughing so obnoxiously loud at everything Grayson said that the opening ceremony might have been right out of a Monty Python sketch.

Well, he was out _now_, at least. When Alfred had presented the vast buffet, all the guests had turned away and given Damian a chance to slip out onto the corridor. Three turns later, when he was sure that nobody had followed him, he climbed through a window and landed in one of Alfred's rose beds.

The cool air felt good – Damian could feel his nerves calming down. After a long second of close listening for any suspicious noises, he carefully made his way over to the garage. Grayson had told him about a whole list of persons he suspected to have a connection to the Snake, and Damian guessed that he would try to spy on them before he checked for the cars.

Damian had lost a lot of time already thanks to the high society idiots; he hoped he wouldn't run into Grayson right away. But the older man was probably still busy with his list, and maybe Damian was just about to bust the car robbery.

There was a dim light in the garage! – Damian's heart beat faster. He grinned wickedly and tiptoed closer, always staying in the shadows. There were male voices talking in hushed voices... three, maybe four? For a second Damian thought he heard Francis Bolton's voice, but he was wrong. Huh, how lovely _that_ would be, though...

Damian couldn't help but imagine the look on Grayson's face if Damian presented him with a bound and gagged Bolton, preferably with a broken nose to match his son's. That asshole had started all this shit, and if it weren't for his stupid prejudice Damian would have never even thought about mocking Grayson with his ancestry. Bolton would squeak like a swine if he broke his nose, he was sure about it, and for a second Damian allowed a smile to appear on his lips when he thought about the noise and –

Suddenly, two large hands appeared in his vision, one clamping over his mouth and nose, the other around his throat, and Damian was lifted into the air.

_What the f- ?!_

The adrenaline hit. He tried to twist, slammed his elbows at the body behind him, but his legs only dangled in the air uselessly and his elbows didn't hit. The hand around his neck was squeezing, and when Damian realized that he couldn't reach his attacker, a small part of him panicked.

What the fuck was happening here?! He bit down viciously at the hand that covered his mouth, and a mumbled curse became audible. A quiet laugh from left behind him. Two of them, _shit._

Instead of letting him go, the man who held him up simply wrapped the second, bitten hand around Damian's throat too and squeezed harder. He opened his mouth to breathe, but couldn't. He couldn't scream either, and his legs were still kicking the air fruitlessly...

_Shit Shit Shit!_

How the hell did that happen?! How could two guys just sneak up on him?! He was Damian Wayne Al Ghul, and... and his lungs had begun to burn really, really bad. _Fuck._

He tried to wrestle free, but those two obviously weren't idiots. They had lifted him up almost immediately, and without ground contact Damian wasn't able to build up enough momentum for a proper twist or push for a kick. There was a rushing in his ears while he tried to suck in air, but he still could hear the two men hissing at each other.

Then, another hand appeared in front of his face with a wet tissue. _Ohh no, you will not- _Damian tried to twist his face away, but the hand was faster; the wet cloth was pushed over his nose and mouth, and the other man let go of his throat just in that moment.

The need to breathe was too strong; he knew he shouldn't, but the second his throat was free Damian sucked in a deep, much needed breath. It felt good for a short moment, and then it felt terrible.

The drug hit at once, Damian's world tilted to the side. He hit the ground hard, cursing, and felt the shadows of the two goons loom over him. The stench of the drug-wrenched tissue still burned in his nose; he couldn't make out what kind of drug it was, but it was a hard, barely diluted one. Damian was used to a lot of drug dosages, but this one had probably been intended for an adult.

… _goddamnit._

He tried to get up, but one of the goons lifted him up by the collar of his shirt and simply dragged him behind him as they made his way... to the garage?!

_The Snake,_ Damian realized with a jolt, and tried to clamber onto his feet.

It wasn't working. His body was hardly listening to him, even his eyelids were dropping without his permission. He fought against it, felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but couldn't so much as lift his arm more than a couple of inches.

"_What the hell?!"_

His senses were still working, apparently. The goon that had dragged him over threw him onto the hard ground unceremoniously._ Ouch._ With a lot, way-too-much, effort Damian hefted himself up to his elbows and tried to focus on the person in front of him.

"He was snooping around in front of the garage, boss. Walked right past our hide out."

_Oh_.

That was... embarrassing. He shouldn't have been thinking about Bolton in a situation like that. Damian tried to grit his teeth. Damn, this was frustrating. The drug didn't seem to worsen, but he barely was able to move. He needed the moment of surprise to kick the man in front of him in the shin and then roll under the car...

_-Klick-_

Damian froze. When he dared to elevate his gaze, he saw a cocked gun directed right at his face.

The whole situation had just taken a turn for the worse. For the much, much worse.

"Isn't that the Wayne boy?!" A voice to his left suddenly spoke up.

"Who?"

"Wayne's bastard son. Damon? Daniel?" Damian was just about to snarl something very, very rude into the direction of the voice, when the man in front of him suddenly stepped closer and chuckled in a seriously creepy, disturbing way.

"_Grayson's_ brat, huh?" he said and knelt down to look into the boy's face. For the first time Damian could see him properly, but the man didn't look familiar at all. He knew immediately that he had never seen this man before, and somehow that made him even more uneasy. He _didn't know_ this man...

The man was grinning now, and it was even more scary. Damian didn't like to admit it, but the situation was freaking him out. He couldn't move, there was a gun right in his face, he had been surprised on a freaking_ stakeout,_ and now there was a complete stranger looming over him who apparently knew his mentor.

"So what are we going to do with you, _Damian_ Way-"

"_Psh, someone's coming!"_

In a matter of seconds the dim torchlight flickered off. The whole gang was pressed against the walls of the garage and didn't make any noise. One of them had grabbed Damian and kind of held him upright, with the gun pressed right into his cheek.

_-tt-,_ as if Damian could actually _move _to do anything..

"I think it's Grayson," the same voice that had just warned them whispered through the silence. Damian's heart beat faster. Grayson was coming? Why the hell was he coming to the garage?!

The men around him grew anxious immediately. He could hear hissing and whispering from every direction, until the guardsman was talking again.

"He's not alone. I think it.. it's the Commissioner!"

More anxiety. Damian grew confused, but then suddenly the men grew deadly quiet and he could hear the creepy man from earlier chuckle.

"This just keeps getting better, huh?"

By now, Grayson's voice as well as their approaching steps could be made out.

"_Really, Jim, it's a beautiful car. I swear you haven't seen anything like it before."_

From the corner of his eye, Damian could see that the creepy man was gesturing around wildly. Noiselessly, the men followed his orders and regrouped. The guy who held Damian locked his gun again, but didn't pull away. Damian didn't have time to feel relieved before the man was pushing and dragging him across the garage, to stand a few metres away form the creepy man.

The few steps weren't a comfortable journey; Damian's legs were worse than jelly, and every step and turn made his vision turn and blur. He wasn't sick, thank God, but the drug was beginning to affect his thoughts, made them more slurred than usual and slower to catch up.

Then Grayson's voice was only inches away and Damian wanted to shout out to him, but the goon swatted his hand over his mouth just in time. The door swung open, the lights flickered on, and Grayson and Commissioner Gordon were entering, both completely absorbed in their conversation.

There were various clicks when the guns were unlocked and directed at the two of them, and the door was slammed shut behind them.

"What the he-"

The Commissioner was interrupted by a rough shove backwards, away from Grayson.

Damian watched closely, heart beating faster, as Grayson slowly lifted his arms, brows furrowing. He hadn't seen Damian yet, with his eyes focused on the gang leader.

"What is going on here?" he asked, voice firm.

"_Richard,_ it's a pleasure to meet you in person, finally," the creepy guy said, stepping forward.

Grayson's eyes narrowed in annoyance, obviously trying to recognize him. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

"You are committing armed home invasion, that's not a harmless crime," Gordon piped up from behind.

If it weren't for the Commissioner, Richard would have kicked those asses in the matter of seconds, Damian knew. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men, trying to think of a solution for this fucked up situation. By now, only the hand clamped around his mouth kept him upright, his knees had already buckled under him.

On cue, the goon that held the gun to his face pushed Damian forward. He stumbled onto his knees, and Grayson craned to the side to look at the noise... and froze. _"Damian?!" _

"Aww, trespassing, _really?_ But your little brother invited us in!"

Damian had scarcely seen Grayson so put off. His eyes were wide, and his skin lost some color the second he spotted him. He made a motion to hurry over to him, but the sound of a gun being unlocked made him freeze.

Damian saw how Richard gritted his teeth in anger. He dimly wondered who it was directed against.

"Let him go," he growled at the boss of the Snake.

"I don't think you're in any position to make orders, Richie..."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, you still don't know?" The creepy man actually sounded mad, and Damian had half a mind to scream at him that _of course _Richard had figured it out by now. "And here you were talking about me on television as if you knew me for years."

"_Snake,_" Richard hissed after a moment, eyes narrowing dangerously. "What do you _want_?"

"Good question. I want many things... but what I _really_ want to know is what the media would write if that _'coward that hides behind his moronic goons'_ would invade your home and blow the brains of your little brother over the carpet, right in front of the Commissioner of Gotham."

Damian froze involuntarily, and Grayson flinched...violently. His eyes darted between the Snake and Damian.

"_Don't,_" he pleaded, and Damian swore his mentor had never sounded that scared before. He tried to lift his gaze to reassess the situation- were they really that fucked up? "He has nothing to do with this."

There were five members of the Snake in the garage, four of them armed, as far as Damian could see. The fifth guy had his arms crossed – maybe from his angle Damian just couldn't see the gun. Two had directed their guns at the Commissioner who stood with his back to the door, growling at them furiously. Then there was Snake with his gun pointed at Richard, and the crook behind him who had squirmed happily when his brain matter had been the topic.

_Shit._

"Give me a good reason not to."

"He's only ten years old!"

"He's pretty when he's distressed," the goon that had his arms crossed chuckled suddenly. He was the one who had overpowered Damian, he recognized the laugh.

Grayson tensed and crooked his head into the man's direction. The goons were all snickering now, and the boss had broken into one of his wide, creepy grins.

"So you don't want me to kill your brother?"

Grayson didn't answer, just concentrated on the boss. He shook his head slowly, not saying anything. Damian thought he could make out a slight tremble.

The Snake's grin was turning dirty now, and Damian's blood turned into ice when he saw that the hand that wasn't holding the gun steadily at Richard had begun to unbuckle his belt.

"Then get on your knees, pretty boy."

_-tbc-_


	6. Take it Back

**Please read the very important (and long..) A/N at the bottom!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Take it Back**

"Then get on your knees, pretty boy."

Dick's thoughts had been going a mile per minute, but halted now to freeze into a block of ice.

_What?!_

He stared at Snake, at that dirty, smug grin, and only then realized that he was opening his belt with one hand. He was serious. Dick felt the bile rising. Oh God, _he was serious._

"...What?" he asked with a dry voice, trying to buy time. He had to think of something; he needed to get them out of here. Damian was in trouble – the boy didn't seem to be able to stand on his own feet. Was he drugged? _Hurt_?

The Commissioner was yelling something behind him, but Dick's ears were buzzing too loudly to make out the words. They didn't matter, anyway. He used the distraction to shift his glance to the man who was holding the gun to Damian's head (_oh God there was someone holding a gun to Damian's head!)_ and make sure he had seen right the first time: the gun was still uncocked. Good.

He could flip to the side and kick the gun out of the man's hand before he even knew what was happening, and then use the momentum to roll with Damian under the car... but then what? What about the Commissioner? And what if the goon _did_ see it coming? All it took for him to blow Damian's brains out were two small movements with his fingers. He couldn't risk that.

"I said, get on your knees, _pretty boy._"

Dick kept staring at him. He had to think of something, but his mind was blank. Completely, utterly _blank_. He didn't know what to do.

Two small movements with his fingers. He _couldn't_ risk it.

With shaky knees, he stepped closer to the gang leader who smirked madly. His brain rebooted with full force and started to scream at him, but there was no, not even _one_ single idea on how to get out of this one.

There was cursing behind him and shuffling, then the sound of a punch and the Commissioner panted when the air was expelled from his lungs. A soft thud; Dick suspected that Jim had just been shoved to the ground. Damian was squirming in the arms of his captor, he could see him out of the corner of his eye, but his movements were sluggish and clumsy.

Dick dropped to his knees right in front of Snake and reached for the fly of the trousers. His hands were shaking badly... oh God, this was really happening. Dick thought he might burst into tears any second.

How did this whole thing happen? Where had he gone wrong?! There were only three guys in the garage on the surveillance tape, and they had been arms-deep in the cars' insides, trying to salvage them. And now there were five, all armed, and had_ Damian_ as a captive?

With trembling hands, Dick tugged at the jeans. _Wow,_ he had messed this one up, holy shit. He hadn't expected the leader to show up, it was way too dangerous. All he had wanted were fingerprints or other leads; the surveillance camera in the garage was connected to the facial and voice recognition software in the Batcave. He didn't think that Snake himself would show up with so much anger. Dick completely trusted him to take it out on Damian – there had been other dead kids where the Snake had struck. But how had he known that Dick would even come to the garage?! How had he been able to plan this with so many undefined variables – Damian, the Commissioner, himself?

The goons behind him were laughing, and Snake had begun to pant in anticipation. Dick was still struggling with the trousers – his arms didn't really follow his instructions, as if there was no strength left whatsoever. Then finally, the trousers slid down the man's hairy legs, and Dick saw something metallic gleaming on one shin.

_Oh. _

So Snake hadn't planned this.

He only had about two seconds to act before Snake realized his mistake. Without conscious thought, Dick launched into motion. He pushed himself off the ground with all the strength he could muster, grabbing and unsheathing the knife that was strapped to Snake's right ankle.

He twisted his body and threw the knife full force, praying that it hit its target and seized the moment. Automatically, the goons all followed the trajectory of the shiny knife; only Snake had noticed the unexpected movement at his feet before it was in the air. Before he could act, though, Dick slammed his elbow into the man's crotch, grabbed his collar when he tilted forwards into a defensive position, and pulled – with his hands pressed against his balls, the automatic response of his body and the trousers still wound around his ankles, Snake simply toppled right over Dick.

It didn't take longer than a heart beat – immediately, there were gunshots, but Dick used the momentum of Snake's body to pull him over himself and create a temporary shield. He only needed a second to dive for the gun the man had dropped.

The other goons were confused, surprised by how fast the game had changed. The man that had held Damian was serving as a wonderful distraction, clutching his hand and screaming at the knife that stuck in the flesh of his palm. He had dropped the gun and Damian, but Dick was pretty sure that he hadn't yet realized that the knife had also severed the sinews that had connected the muscles of his trigger finger.

He shot at the man that had had his arms crossed before and was now desperately trying to get his gun fast enough, hit him in the shoulder and then threw himself sideways into Damian's direction, tossing the gun towards the Commissioner. "_Number five – oh – seven!_" Dick screamed, praying that the Commissioner remembered his police training and the maneuvers they had learned.

Jim was still kneeling on the ground and grabbed the gun that skidded over the floor. The two men right next to him were too distracted by Dick's sudden action and their two screaming comrades... Correction; _one_ screaming comrade. Dick barreled into the goon at Damian's side full force, knocking his head into the car door beside him. The man dropped to the floor like a stone, and Dick lunged for his little brother.

In one swift movement, he threw the car door of the Old Timer open and hauled the boy into the interior. No time to check up on him, one bullet had already hit the car door. In this one blink of an eye Dick hadn't seen any blood surrounding Damian. It had to do for now.

Dick risked a second to reach behind his makeshift shield and took Damian's former captive's gun. He whirled around to check on Snake, uncocking his gun. The leader was still lying on the floor, clutching his balls. Yeah, Dick had really hit hard. No, he didn't regret it, not one bit. _Asshole. _

_Jim!_

While Dick had been busy saving Damian, the Commissioner had acted in the only smart way his situation had left him; he had grabbed the gun Dick had tossed over to him and shot one of the men's thigh, bringing him down. The man had fallen, and Jim had yanked him forward, using his body as a shield just like Dick had used Snake. It was a dirty trick, dangerous, but the only solution available. The second man had stood too close to him to give him time to search for another shelter.

The man was panicking now, Dick could see it. He was all alone all of sudden, and the gun he had pointed at the Commissioner was unsteady.

"Give up, boy, it's over," Jim said quietly.

"The police are on their way already; the guests surely heard the gunshots," Dick added, trying to sound just as cool and collected as Jim did when he visibly directed his gun at the man, too. Damn, the Commissioner had nerves of steel...

The last goon wasn't as stupid as the rest. He threw his gun into Jim's direction and lowered himself to the ground slowly, face down. Jim shifted a wary glance at Snake and seemed satisfied with what he saw.

They did it.

"_Damian!_" Dick swiveled around to the car and his little brother. Damian was staring at him from the car, obviously trying to stay upright, with wide, unfocused eyes. When he heard his name, his gaze shifted slowly, uncertainly to Dick's face.

"Are you alright? What did they do?" Dick grabbed the boy's shoulders, checking him over anxiously. Dear Lord, who knew how long those assholes had had him before he showed up. Who knew what they were going to do if he hadn't showed up. _He had only been inches away from a headshot!_ "Are you hurt?!"

Damian shook his head, apparently a bit taken aback by Dick's frantic behaviour. "Jus' sso..some drug," he slurred.

Drug. Not concussed, not bleeding, no protruding bones. Still aware of his surroundings. _Alive._

"Oh, thank God," Dick sighed and drew the surprised boy into a tight hug. For once, Damian didn't struggle. "You're okay..."

"Dick?"

Dick looked up, not letting go of Damian. The Commissioner was standing in front of him, with a seriously worried expression on his face. Dick suspected that he had called his name a couple of times already.

"Everything alright?"

Dick nodded slowly, pulling Damian closer. "He's okay. Shocked, but okay."

"What about _you?_"

Dick blinked up at him and only then realized that he was trembling badly. Like breaking through the water's surface and feeling the cool air on one's skin for the first time in ages, Dick's senses suddenly snapped back into reality, the last minutes crashing down on him. _Woah._

There were sirens blaring in the vast distance, and he heard hurrying footsteps approaching. Alfred? The garage was a mess – five guys lying on the ground, three of them bleeding strongly, Snake still in fetal position but bound to one of the cars with an oily bicycle chain... Huh, when did that happen? The guy who had surrendered voluntarily was also tied up neatly. Dick must have zoned out there for a few seconds.

"_Dick!" _The Commissioner sounded downright exasperated now. Status report,_ right._

"Fine," he replied, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "I'm fine, thanks." _As long as I don't think about what I was about to do five minutes ago..._

Jim didn't look convinced, so Dick decided to demonstrate how 'fine' he was by getting up. He didn't let go of Damian – who, most importantly, hadn't yet let go of him – and stood up, standing on shaky knees. He felt like he had just run a marathon, tiredness washing over him suddenly.

"Are you sure? Because those were some really intense moments right there..."

Yeah, he had noticed. Dick huffed a dry laugh. He still felt the jeans fabric on his skin... Fortunately Alfred slammed the garage door open just then and saved him from coming up with an adequate answer. There were many people in fancy dresses peeking through the door when Alfred hurried in, not daring to enter but keen to watch. There had been a high society party after all, Dick remembered with a grimace. No time to think about that.

Alfred stepped over the goon with the wounded thigh and took the whole situation in with a few sharp glances. He lingered a little bit longer at Snake, whose trousers were still draped around his ankles, then mustered a long look at Dick. He had probably seen the surveillance tapes..

"Everything's okay," Dick offered, not very convincing.

"You don't look '_okay'_." Typical Alfred, totally undermining his authority...

"Listen, Dick," the Commissioner piped up again. "The police will be here any second. We'll try to handle it fast. Are you up to it?"

Dick nodded, solemnly. He really wasn't looking forward to giving testimony at the police station right now, but he knew how those things worked only too well, and knew that the sooner he got it done, the better.

"What about Damian? We need to have him checked over."

"We'd need his testimony, too..." Jim looked at the two of them sympathetically, "but I guess that can wait til tomorrow."

"I'll bring him upstairs," Dick turned towards the door to the Manor, and the high society bystanders backed off a few steps. "Alfred, call Leslie, will you? I'll be right back."

On the big staircase, away from the crowd, Dick allowed himself to lose some of the cool facade he had tried to display. Damian was getting heavy in his arms, but he doubted that the boy would be able to walk the stairs on his own. He suspected he knew what drug they had used, and there wouldn't be any long-term effects as soon as Damian had slept it off. Leslie would check him through anyway, just to make sure.

"Don't say anything to anybody until I'm back, okay?" Dick murmured into the boy's hair. He was too tired to make it an order, and he probably couldn't get the voice right right now, anyway. "I'll need to think of some story first."

Damian muttered something unintelligable, which could have been an 'I'm sorry' or a 'go to hell'.

They reached Damian's room and Dick lowered his brother to the bed. Damian looked positively awful, curling up in a tight ball at once, but Dick didn't have the time to take care of that now. He didn't look much better himself.

"We'll talk about what happened when I'm back," he said, slightly distracted by the two cats that sat outside on the window ledge and looked at him expectantly. Huh. He decided to let Alfred fight that battle.

* * *

Damian felt miserable. Simple as that.

It was long into the night when he heard keys dangling at the front door. The door to Pennyworth's room opened and he heard hurried footsteps, but didn't dare to follow. He expected Grayson to come to his room at once, but he didn't. Only the butler's footsteps passed his room a few minutes later.

He would still come, Richard had told him so before he left. Damian pulled the blankets closer around him.

He hadn't slept like Leslie had instructed him to, but the drug had still worn off little by little and was now completely gone. Damian's head was pounding, but that was just one of the side-effects; he'd be alright... except for being scared out of his mind by the prospect of having to talk to Grayson.

Damian was no fool; he knew he had messed up big time. Walking right into the Snake's guard post was stupid and embarrassing, getting drugged was frustrating and dangerous. It had been nerve-wracking, but in the end nothing that hadn't happened to any of them before. But bringing Grayson and the Commissioner into such a position... Damian shuddered. Just the thought of Richard sliding onto his knees, while Snake had _grinned_ like a dirty pervert...

Damian didn't know how Grayson knew that Snake had a knife strapped around his ankle. Granted, he had been drugged and his perception hadn't been great all evening, but he was sure that neither holster nor knife had in any way pressed against the jeans. That was the point of a hidden knife, after all. Damian had been truly terrified when Richard had actually pulled down Snake's pants. He wouldn't ever forgive himself if he had gone through with it.

He didn't know if he could forgive himself _now, _but right now he was more afraid of what Richard had to say to him. Hours had passed since Grayson left, and Damian had spent a good deal of them trying to figure out what to say, how to defend himself. There was no good excuse for his behaviour – he had disobeyed a clear, direct order, had endangered innocent bystanders and almost made Grayson... he couldn't even finish the thought without feeling nauseated. Richard had to be furious about the humiliation he had to go through thanks to his mistakes.

Grayson would send him away now, Damian was absolutely sure. There was no reason for him to keep a kid he wasn't even related to that openly defied him and fucked up things so badly. Richard would just send him back to his mother and go back to living the life he was probably missing like hell.

There was a soft knock on the door just then. Perfect timing. Damian remained silent, but the door opened nonetheless and Richard stepped in. He was wearing a morning robe, his hair still damp. Damian could smell the curd soap they used in the Cave's showers.

"I know you're still awake."

Unwillingly, Damian pulled the blankets back and sat upright, watching as Grayson stepped closer and sat down on the mattress, opposing Damian. He looked tired beyond words, and Damian averted his gaze quickly.

"What happened, Damian?"

Richard's voice was soft, but flat. As if he had already given up and just held this conversation with him pro forma. He would wait for an answer and then tell him to go. Damian swallowed and refused to answer. Grayson sighed resignedly.

"I gave you a clear order. You were to stay back and watch out for the other guests. Why didn't you listen; I thought we had a deal?"

A deal, yes. Damian felt the bile rising. It was only this damn deal that brought him into this position, that had proven to him that Grayson neither wanted nor needed him around. "I didn't want to be redundant," he whispered therefore.

"Redundant?" Now Grayson's voice got more lively, "Damian, you had the most important part in this! I would have never just walked into that garage if I didn't have any back up! Alfred was supposed to check the tapes after I gave him the signal and if anything happened, he was to send you to bail me out."

Oh. Damian felt his cheeks turn red in shame during Grayson's speech. He hadn't thought so far... right, Grayson _had_ simply walked into the garage, with the Commissioner in tow, while he knew or at least suspected a few armed criminals...

That only meant he had messed up even more. No wonder Grayson came in. No wonder he had panicked like that when he actually saw Damian – not only was he shocked to see him in that situation, his whole contingency plan got blown to pieces, and the Commissioner was involved as well...

"I watched the tapes in the Cave, you know?" Richard went on when Damian didn't speak up. "You walked right into those guard posts! What happened!?"

"I was distracted."

"_Distracted._" Grayson echoed him, a mixture of resignation and disbelief... more resignation, though. "Damian, I don't know what to do with you anymore..."

Damian forced himself to look at his mentor and saw how he ran a hand through his wet hair. "Are you mad?"

"I don't know. I'm... disappointed, honestly. And scared."

"Scared?" He asked, because it was easier to think about that than about the disappointment part.

Richard nodded. "Yeah," he said with a soft voice. "I keep telling you that all it takes is one tiny slipup and its over. I've been telling you from day one, but you just won't listen to me. Today you almost got yourself killed, just because you didn't like your role in _one_ gig? Damian, that was not only reckless and disobedient, that was stupid."

"I know..."

"And then there was the Commissioner! He could have died as well, just because we can't communicate properly?"

The following silence was suffocating. Damian knew that Grayson was waiting for him to say something, but he didn't dare to open his mouth and give him even more reason to kick him out. Finally, though, he couldn't bear to wait anymore. "What will happen now?"

Grayson sighed deeply. "I don't know, Damian, I'm just as clueless as you used to point out." – _ouch! – _ "It's obvious that things will have to change, I.. I will think about it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Abruptly, Grayson stood up and hurried towards the door.

"Richard," Damian called, not even noticing the name. Grayson halted in front of the door and looked over his shoulder. "How did you know about the knife?"

"The knife?"

"Yes, the one around his ankle. How did you know about it? I didn't see it."

Grayson turned around again, shrugging slowly. "I didn't."

_What?! _"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know about it."

Damian's calm facade crumbled just like that. He hadn't known?! But that meant – _oh God._ Damian felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. "But... why did you..."

Just the thought of Richard sliding onto his knees in front of that asshole was enough to keep Damian awake for weeks to come. And to think that the idiot really... he would have...

"Damian, he held a gun at your face." Grayson, the idiot, had the nerve to look at him just as surprised as Damian looked right now. As if it were completely normal to do as a homicidal pervert ordered and... all the adrenaline Damian had suppressed so far suddenly shot right up his spine. Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing upright in his bed, hands balled to fists and screaming.

"Are you kidding me?! Do you know what almost happened?! What else he would have done to you afterwards!?"

"Of course I knew," his mentor shot back, still calm but obviously uncomfortable. "But he had threatened to kill you and you know he had killed kids before."

Damian continued to shout, running out of breath. When he stopped to inhale sharply, Grayson looked at him sternly. "That's enough Damian. We got away with a black eye this time. We should be thankful nothing happened."

"But it almost did!"

Damian froze immediately, shutting up. Grayson's eyes widened also the tiniest bit, signaling that he had also recognized the familiar argument.

_'Nothing happened, alright?'_

_'But something __could_ have happened, and I had no chance of finding you with your tracker off!'*

Suddenly, Damian was hit by tiredness. And a lot of different things he couldn't make sense out of right now. All he knew was that Grayson would have gone through with everything Snake would have ordered him to do just to keep up the slight chance that he wouldn't kill Damian. He had said so with absolute conviction, and Damian knew how stubborn Richard could be.

Grayson seemed to debate whether to walk up to him or leave. In the end, he just pinched the bridge of his nose and grabbed the door handle. "Tomorrow, Damian. Try to get some sleep."

-tbc-

* * *

_* this dialogue goes back to chapter 1, when Damian snapped at Dick._

* * *

_**A/N:** When I wrote the conversation between Dick and Damian, I couldn't get the Lion King's scene between Mufasa and Simba out of my head. It was very tempting to simply copy it: "Simba/Damian, I am very disappointed in you." - "I know..." - "You could have been killed! You deliberately disobeyed me; and what's worse, you put Nala/the Commissioner in danger!"... *lol*_

_**Thanks for more than 100 reviews!** I promised you a reward, and here is the deal: I'd like to write a One Shot for you! Please send me prompts and ideas you'd like me to write, and I will make a poll (as soon as I know how to do that) with your suggestions. By the end of this ff, I'll write the one with the most supporters. You can send them in via review or PM, though I would prefer PM because I will surely answer you to talk about it. The more detailed your idea, the better (One sentence-prompt are likely to be misunderstood, I think). The only demand on my side is that it should be mainly about the Batfamily. I don't have an issue with M-rated stuff as long as that stuff serves a purpose for the plot (meaning: no NSFW or PWP or whatever kids these days call it ;) ). Be quick! I'd like to have the poll up for as long as possible, and there are only 2 or 3 chapters missing til the end; also I'd like to limit the poll to 5 or 6 possibilities, though I will adjust it depending on your feedback... most importantly: DO IT! If I get no prompts, there'll be no One Shot ;) Prompt me!_


	7. Wearing the Inside Out

In the light of recent events, I's like to make an announcement:

Dear DC, I know you are having a hard time right now. It's not easy living up to everyone's expectations, and it's only human to fail sometimes. It's okay to ask for help though - If you need someone to write some dramatic death scenes for you, I'd totally do it. Really, I'm good at that stuff. Oh no, don't get me wrong, I really like slapstick. And all those rock-related puns we can use now? They're awesome. But still, if you ever need help writing an angsty, cool, dramatic death... don't hesitate to ask. That is all.

;)

* * *

**Chapter 7: Wearing the Inside Out**

The sun was high in the sky when Damian decided to take matters into his own hands. He had slept a few hours, fitful and restless, and had woken up from the clutches of a nightmare even more tired than before. He couldn't remember the dream, but had a very distinct idea of what it had been about.

He couldn't fall asleep afterwards, partly out of fear of dreaming again, partly because the thoughts wouldn't stop pouring into his head.

Richard hadn't known about the knife. He had pulled down Snake's pants with the intention of following his orders, on the small chance that Damian would come out alive.

The boy couldn't stop thinking about that. He couldn't stop being _confused_ by it. _Why_ would he do something like this? Damian had messed up his plan, had been rude and disobedient and basically nothing but trouble for his mentor. The older man had left his old life behind, his friends, his city, his own vigilante persona. Father's will had clearly stated that he shouldn't take up the cowl, yet Grayson did it. Damian had been jealous and then angry when he learned that Grayson didn't even want to be Batman. Yet he pulled it off, with an insolent Robin at his side and a ward that regularly told him what a failure he was.

And still, even though he had any reason to leave Damian to his demise, he had obeyed Snake. Who knew what else Snake had wanted to do to him. To keep _him_ alive. There was only one possible explanation for it, and Damian found that it made feel uneasy and warmer at the same time – Richard wanted to keep him alive because he cared for him.

It didn't make any sense. He probably felt obligated to take care of Damian because he was Bruce Wayne's son, but then again Damian himself had pointed out more than once that they weren't even blood related, and Father was dead. Even if Drake still believed the opposite, he knew that Grayson didn't, and why would he fear the scorn of a dead man?

He also didn't need a Robin; the last weeks had made that painfully obvious. Yet he had knowingly angered his cherished Drake to give Damian a reason to stay with him. That meant that Grayson had already cared about him back then. And he had obviously cared about him when Robin had run away to meet his mother and had snapped at him later because of it.

It was strange and awkward to see a situation he had been so sure about from a different light. Grayson hadn't lied when he said things like 'I care about you', or 'I worry about you'. He also hadn't tried to manipulate him with it, as his mother had told him.

His mother... when Damian's thoughts turned to her, he suddenly knew what to do. He had to talk to her properly, seek her out and make things right. There was still a 'right' he could aim for, contrary to his relationship with Grayson. He had blown that one, and Damian didn't know how he could redeem himself. So he would simply take the matter out of Grayson's hands and offer to leave.

Grayson didn't need him, couldn't want him anymore, but maybe his mother would.

Somewhere around noon, when he stopped waiting for Pennyworth to 'wake' him up, he left his bed and started to pack his things. The cats were prowling around his room again, uneasy. Damian suspected they were angry at him for not letting them in last night. In the end, he simply patted them once or twice before ushering them onto the window ledge again.

He steadied himself and then left his room to find Grayson. The quicker he managed this, the better. Of course he ran right into Pennyworth, who called after him the moment he spotted him. Damian turned around to him but found that he couldn't meet his eyes. The old butler knew what had happened yesterday.

"Master Damian, it's good to see you finally up. I decided to let you sleep in, since I figured the drug needed a while to wear off."

Damian simply nodded, turning to leave.

"You _are_ feeling better, are you?"

Another nod. Why was Pennyworth even bothering with him, he had endangered his precious 'grandchild' and there was no arguing about who was guilty.

"Damian, look at me." It was an order, a rare break in character. Damian should be angry about the butler's bossy nature towards him, but he obeyed immediately, shifting his gaze at Pennyworth. He had awaited scorn and anger, but he couldn't read anything else but worry as the butler examined him closely. It was beyond confusing.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Damian didn't answer, but that was enough for the experienced butler who sighed and shook his head in silent discontent. "No patrol tonight for you. For _either_ of you."

Either? Pennyworth was grounding Grayson too? Before Damian could ask, Pennyworth had already walked past him, ensuring that his last words were indeed _the last words_. It didn't matter, Damian decided, he probably wouldn't be around this evening, anyway.

He found Grayson in the Batcave, typing at the computer. He turned towards Damian for a second, nodded at him in greeting and then returned to his report. It was obvious that he hadn't gotten any sleep either, and Pennyworth's words made more sense.

"How's your head?" Grayson asked absentmindedly, voice flat with fatigue.

"It's fine. The headache stopped during the night. Grayson, I..."

"Damian," his mentor interrupted him, sighing deeply and turning his chair towards him. "I think I might have found a solution for our problem. We're not working well together recently despite all our efforts, and I thought maybe we'd need a bit of time away from each other."

"You're sending me away," Damian concluded, feeling hollow. He had expected it, yes, but had hoped for a bit more patience from Grayson, so he could be the one to offer to leave. He'd rather go on his own accord than be officially sent away... but then again, Grayson had used up a lot of patience, already..

A look of annoyance crossed Richard's tired features. "I'm not sending you away, it's your call. If you don't want to, you don't have to, but I think it'll do you some good to spend time with other kids."

Boarding school, then. It was only logical, that way he had the headmaster's vote on his side.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm sure you'd like the Titans if you only tried."

"The Teen Titans?" That came unexpected. Drake's team? Damian hadn't thought of that, but in the end it didn't matter. He didn't want to leave, whether for a team of idiots or for a school full of them, but he had to.

"I thought to go to my mother.." Damian said with too much uncertainty, having lost his firmness when Grayson had been the first to bring up the subject. Secretly, he had to admit to himself, he had hoped that Richard would ask him to stay.

"Your _mother_?" the elder man asked with wide eyes, clearly surprised, and then snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Why don't you think about the Titans, and I'll try to think of something else if you decide it's a no."

With that, Grayson simply turned back to his report and the clattering sound of the keyboard filled the cave. Damian felt like he should be mad about Richard's dismissive reaction towards his mother, but he was too taken aback by the 'solution'.

"Why the Titans?" he asked out of curiosity.

Grayson didn't stop typing or staring at the screen. "Because it would be good for you to make some friends."

Friends..? Damian never had friends, never _needed _friends. His mother always said that friends slowed you down, took your head out of the game, distracted you... _oh._

"I don't need friends," he said therefore, feeling a blush creep over his cheeks. "I already have one here in Gotham, and one is more than enough."

The clattering didn't stop but slowed down, and Damian watched how a small smile grew on Richard's face after a moment of confusion. "Oh? I didn't know," he said softly, still smiling, still looking at the monitor.

Damian looked at the monitor too, thankful that Grayson didn't insist on closeness. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he stole a few glances and made sure he still smiled.

"Well, we're having some difficulties at the moment," he elaborated. "Usually he lets me get away with everything, but it seems I crossed some line."

"Hmm, then perhaps he's just stressed out and needs to catch a break."

"I still think should apologize."

The clattering of the keys grew faster again and the smile wider. "You hate to apologize."

"I fear it's necessary."

"It's not so much the words that matter, Damian," Richard explained, "but your actions."

That was new. "I don't understand."

"You will, don't worry."

Pennyworth hollered after him just when Grayson finished, and Damian left with a last glance at Richard, who hadn't once looked away from his screen. It was as much distance he could give Damian to enable the boy to open up. Not for a second did Damian doubt that they both knew who Damian's 'friend' was from the very beginning, but that way was, in turn, as much emotionality as Damian could give.

Grayson said he didn't _have_ to leave... but he had also told him that he needed a break. In the end Damian was none the wiser, but still felt better. Maybe he didn't have to leave_ this _very evening.

* * *

Dick was driving into the garage, trying not to look at the blood splatters on the floor Alfred hadn't yet managed to conquer. He had his mind on other things anyway, more important things, and he needed to be quick so the butler wouldn't catch him.

He shouldn't be driving with such an immense lack of sleep, but the idea that had come to him only an hour ago had kicked some adrenaline into his system again and he decided to just do it. He had driven the Batmobile under more dire circumstances after all (and totally crashed it, but that was something entirely different).

It was so simple, he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought about it sooner. Granted, until an hour ago Dick hadn't even known that Damian liked animals, but anyway – how did regular parents teach responsibility to their kids? With pets, exactly. Dick was just returning from Gotham's biggest animal shelter, a pissed off and angry cat in the transport box he had just bought.

Alfred was going to kill him.

After their little talk in the Batcave Damian had returned to his room and Dick had climbed upon the roof to think. It had been a good talk, it had given him hope. Damian obviously regretted everything that had happened last night, and he had been hurt when Dick had proposed he could leave for a while.

He hadn't meant to hurt him, not by far. He truly believed that a bit of time apart would do them good, but if Damian didn't want to leave he wouldn't have to. They still needed to find a solution to their problems, Damian still needed to listen to him, and Dick was thinking about it while his feet dangled over the edge of the roof.

Peanut and Jelly were with him again, prowling over his lap and nudging him with their snouts if he forgot to pat them. His shirt was already covered in Peanut's orange hairs when both cats pricked up their ears and sprinted to the other side of the roof. Curious, Dick followed them and watched how they carefully made their way down the Manor's walls, using the window ledges and waste drains.

They stopped at a window – Damian's window, Dick realized – and jumped into the room. Dick followed them immediately, hanging upside down from a waste drain and peeking through the glass. He really was a terrible guardian to violate Damian's privacy like that, but his mind had lit up like a Christmas tree when he first saw Damian playing with Peanut and Jelly and then spotted the half- unpacked suitcase on the bed.

Ten minutes later he was in his car on the way to the animal shelter, grinning like a fool, and now he was sneaking around in his own house with a moody cat and deadly afraid of crossing paths with–

"_Richard John Grayson,_ you just _have _to be kidding me!"

_- aww, crap crap crap!_

He turned around to a bitterly vexed Alfred, hands on his hips and head shaking in disappointment.

"Uh, it's not what it looks like?" Dick tried, chuckling nervously, damning the cat for mewling _just then_. Honest to God, Alfred's shadow on the wall just grew horns and a trident.

"For the love of all that's holy, Richard, we talked about this when you were eleven, when you were fifteen and when you were twenty. You can't just bring any animal you find on the streets into the Manor."

"Alfred."

"This is not a zoo, this is a well-respected house and in the end it will fall to me to take care of your little friends and you know you will be heartbroken when they die..."

"Alf!"

"I know you miss the animals you had around when you were a kid but -"

"It's for _Damian._"

That shut the butler up, but he didn't change his posture and only raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I just found out that he likes cats, Alfie, and Damian thinks I'm gonna send him away because he messed up last night," Dick explained in a hushed voice, excited. "If I give him a pet and tell him it's his responsibility he'll understand that he should stay with us!" _And maybe he'll understand the bit about the deeds mattering, not the worded apologies..._

Alfred glared at him for a minute, then averted his glance and hummed. "That could actually work.." He looked utterly unhappy.

"Come on, don't look so down. I exclusively thought about you when I bought him!"

That caught Alfred's interest. He craned his neck to look into the transportation box and Dick held it up with a triumphant grin. "Look! He has a monocle!"

The fur around the cat's left eye was colored a darker shade of gray than the rest. Alfred deadpanned immediately. Sometimes Dick thought that Alfred had the quickest and most consummated reflexes of them all. "What does that have to do with me?"

"It's a_ monocle_," Dick repeated with special emphasis. "It's a super British cat!"

For a second, he thought that Alfred would simply strangle him, but he just glared him down, unmoving. It was very, very scary, and even the cat in question mewled unhappy.

"Uh, I'll... I'll bring it to Damian, yeah..? See you, uh, later, Alfie? Alfred. _Mr. Pennyworth_."

Dick fled up the stairs, grinning like an idiot. He was still in one piece and the cat was alive and well, that totally counted as a win against Alfred 'Dick-you-can't-keep-bringing-strays-into-this-hou se' Pennyworth. And now to the next challenge: Damian.

He knocked softly at the boy's door and waited for him to open it. When he did, Damian's expression was fearful for a moment before he could regain his cool facade, and Dick could feel his heart going out to the boy. He was really afraid he'd send him away. Had even packed a suitcase already...

He had been way too hard to the boy. It had been tempting to show him that he didn't actually know what he wanted, but in the end, he shouldn't have let things spiral out of control like that. He was supposed to be the grown up here, goddammit. Dick just hoped that Damian learned as much from this experience as he had.

"Grayson?"

"Damian, I'll come to the point immediately." He noticed how his protégé flinched, already fearing the worst again. It was hard to resist reaching out and ruffling his hair, so Dick crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, hiding any view of the transportation box he had put down next to the door.

"You need to learn how to be more responsible."

"I know.." Damian looked crushed, and Dick melted at once.

"I will give you a project to improve your sense of responsibility." He reached down to grab the handle of the box and lifted the cat up. It commented on the sudden jolt with a disgruntled mew. "It's yours. I want you to take good care of it."

"A _cat?_" Damian asked perplexed, but he had already stretched out his arms to grab the box. Dick had to grin. Kids and presents.

"Not any cat. I got it from an animal shelter, which means it already has had a home but has been disappointed. You'll find that it will be tricky to tame it, since it'll be distrusting and moody around you at first."

Dick didn't know if any of his carefully prepared metaphorical speech was getting through to Damian. The boy was staring at the cat intensely, apparently apathetic to the rest of the world.

"I like its monocle. Is it British?"

Dick was sure he heard some dishes shattering downstairs and ushered the boy with the transportation box inside, closing the door swiftly.

Inside, Damian had already opened the box and waited for the cat to come out. It was tentative, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

"I don't think it trusts me," Damian said, disheartened.

"Trust needs to grow."

"What if it doesn't like me?"

"Ah, you'll just have to hope for the best on that," Dick smiled knowingly. "It's a male, by the way, and he doesn't have a name."

"I'll name it Hannibal."

"That's terrible. Fluffy?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Attila? Alexander?"

"Ohh I know, Mr. Flufflington!"

"That sounds British at least..." Damian looked at him suddenly, suspicious. "And it is exclusively _my_ responsibility?"

"Absolutely. Alfred and I will not so much as lift a finger. You have to feed him everyday, clean his litter box, play with him. _Every day_."

"Do we even have cat food? Or a litter box?"

"Uh, not yet. I forgot to buy it."

"-tt-, of course you did."

"So, Mr. Fluffington, why don't you come out and play? Yes, that's a good boy!"

Damian watched jealously as the cat cautiously approached Dick. "We will not call it Fluffington."

"Of course not, that's his last name. You're the only person I know who uses last names."

"Is that a problem?" Damian looked distressed again. Out of reflex, Dick reached out for him and patted his hair.

"No, it's kind of adorable when you do it. So, first names. How about Strawberry? I'd call it Peaches if it were a female..."

Damian looked at him while he rambled, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'Buddha', but that made no sense at all.

"Oh, Buddy, that's it! Good idea, Damian!"

The boy stared pensively at the cat. "Buddy is okay, I guess."

"Sir Buddy Fluffington, how do you like that?" The cat turned to look at him, unimpressed. _Super_ _British._

"How did you smuggle it past Pennywor... Alfred? I heard about your earlier failures concerning the lizards you once tried to bring inside," Damian asked, reaching for the cat to pat it.

"Ben and Jerry? Oh that really wasn't a failure, it was just a distraction for my actual plan..."

Dick stayed in Damian's room until late at night, when they were painfully reminded to buy a litter box.

* * *

Things started to look up, afterwards. Grayson tried his best to treat him more like an adult and challenge him during training, while Damian's attempts to tame his temper and insults slowly but steadily grew more fruitful.

Only days after Richard gave him Buddy, Drake called out of the blue, surprising them with news about Damian's father. The situation was tense for a few days, with Damian feeling insecure about his future role as Robin. It took him a while to grasp that Richard was feeling just as unsure about his future position if Bruce Wayne returned.

Only a few months ago, Damian wouldn't have been able to draw an empathetic conclusion like that. He interpreted it as a success of Grayson's training, and it made him wonder how far he could come if their partnership continued.

It was just his luck that Richard went down with a bullet to the head only two weeks later.

_-tbc-_

* * *

**A/N**_**:** if anyone wonders, the full names Dick gave the other two cats are Peanut Butter and Jelly Time._

_As soon as this chapter goes out, I'll post the prompt-poll! Thanks for everyone who made suggestions, I think they are all pretty cool. The poll will be open until the last chapter of this story will be posted. __Chose wisely! I'm sorry I couldn't give you more time to think about ideas, but there were already 9 prompts in only 5 days, and the poll should still be doable (is 'doable' a word...?).  
_

_I'll be in the South of France for the next week and will be busy with doing nothing at all, so the next chapter will probably take some time. I would apologize if I felt any guilt, but I don't. Côte d'azur, hell yeah!_


	8. Coming Back to Life

**Chapter 8: Coming Back to Life**

_-two weeks later-_

The whole gig went according to plan, until suddenly it didn't. Damian had never been as scared as he was in the moment the gun went off.

He had half-expected it to go off a few minutes ago, when Dr. Hurt held it against Richard's skull to force Damian into joining his club. He had been monologuing about his plan while Dick had been hissing and cursing, unmasked and seemingly helpless. Damian had been cursing and shouting and hated every second of the stupid act they were performing.

Admittedly, he was biased when it came to gang leaders with a god complex that told his older brother to get on his knees. Or gang leaders with a god complex that held a gun to his face. He also held certain prejudices when it came to Dick's abilities to adequately assess a situation, especially when his own involvement contained very likely injury.

He had told him time and time again that the plan sucked, but Richard wanted to hear none of it. It had been planned by _the_ mastermind, and apparently Grayson's unlimited loyalty to the man blinded him to possible slip ups.

Anyway, Batman's plan actually _did _work out. In the most critical moment, when Hurt was about to pull the trigger, he was distracted and Richard used the few seconds to roll out of the bullet's way. Damian was in the air and kicking immediately, Hurt was now the one cursing, and then suddenly there was a shadow in the air and Hurt knew he was defeated.

Batman was back._ The_ Batman.

He launched into the fighting, practically mowing down rows of the Black Glove's goons, and Damian stared at his father's strength and authority in awe. It was the first time he had seen him in action. Red Robin had been right behind him and used Batman's impact to quietly rush over to the computers and do his hacking shit, but none of the goons noticed him with their eyes fixed on the Batman. It was exactly like he had predicted.

There hadn't been much time since they found out that Drake_ – Drake! –_ had uncovered evidence that Bruce Wayne was still alive. Then suddenly Drake told them he was back, alive, breathing. And then_ he_ was on the phone, and Richard's smile had been so bright it almost hurt to look upon.

They returned to Gotham only a few days ago, and his father hadn't had time for any of them yet. A short greeting, an annoyed _'Is that Damian in a Robin Costume?'_ he didn't know how to take, and a lot of phone calls and orders that Dick carried out without asking twice. They got a lot of Drake as some sort of ironic compensation for Bruce Wayne's absence. Richard had been just as merry about it, and Drake had bathed in apologies and praise.

Damian had been beyond jealous.

It didn't matter, though, when all the fighting and the perfect performance of his father's plan was suddenly interrupted by a single bullet shot. The impact made Richard's head violently fly to the side, the blood was splattering, and he went down unceremoniously, dropping in a bloody heap on the floor.

Damian felt his heart stop, the rage taking over, but the scream that rang in his ears came from his father, not from his own throat.

They reacted in an eerily similar way, father and son, taking out their fear and wrath on the criminals on their way to Dr. Hurt. The responsible one. The one who was still holding the gun and looking smug. The one who had killed the second Batman.

The real Batman reached him first, and Damian took out all his rage on the men around him. In the corner of his eye he had seen Red Robin rushing over to his big brother, and Damian forced himself to look, to watch how Drake skidded to a halt next to the slumped body.

With frantic movements Drake began to turn the fallen vigilante to his back. Damian was mesmerized by all the blood that was pooling around the two of them. He was at least twenty metres away from it but suddenly he could smell the stench of blood, and his stomach twisted.

But Drake suddenly froze in his movements, let out a deep breath and shouted "He's alive!"

Damian's feet moved without conscious thought, the fight around him forgotten. It wasn't important anyway, since Batman had simply knocked Dr. Hurt unconscious as soon as he had heard Drake, and the rest of the goons were lying on the ground, moaning and bleeding.

"It's just a graze, he's alive," Drake chanted like a mantra when Damian reached them, repeating it again and again while he pressed Richard's cape against one side of his head. The pool of blood around them was still growing.

Head wounds always bled like hell, Damian remembered numbly, staring at the slow rise and fall of his mentor's chest. He didn't dare to look at his face, and when Batman finally came and picked his first son up, he didn't either.

* * *

_'Just a graze' _turned out to be a huge understatement. Doctor Thompson was cursing like a sailor while she sewed, and the Batcave's blood supply of Richard's blood type was dwindling dangerously by the end of the day.

It was just a graze in regard that the bullet didn't hit and penetrate the skull, but the graze hadn't been a light one. It had cut through tissue and a good deal of bone layers, the impact resulting in a heavy concussion and a headache made in hell that knocked Dick out again only two seconds after he woke up.

Damian was standing next to the bed, staring at the thick, white bandages around his brother's head. Leslie had shaven a few strands of hair for better access to the wound – Dick would be pissed about that once he'd woken up properly, but laugh away the rest of the event like it were nothing.

But Damian had thought he had been killed. True, the full implications of that thought hadn't hit him then, there hadn't been time. Damian had seen the surveillance tapes and had been surprised to see that only about half a minute had passed between the shot and Drake's exclamation.

The door behind him opened, and he recognized the heavy steps of his father. He tensed up at once. Bruce Wayne was still a mystery to him, a stranger; they hadn't even exchanged more than a few sentences since he came back to the land of the living.

Father hadn't spoken much more with Richard, though, and that struck Damian as strange. There was so much to talk about, and since it was all relating to the mission, Bruce's usual discomfort when it came to conversing wasn't an explanation.

Damian glanced up at the man who was now standing next to him and staring at the sleeping person on the bed just as he had a few seconds ago. There was no emotion on the handsome features, maybe a hint of tiredness. Damian had no idea what the man was thinking.

"He'll be alright," the man said suddenly, making Damian flinch. His father hadn't spoken directly to him since he came back. "If he doesn't wake up again until tomorrow Leslie wants us to check him out, but I'm sure he'll wake up sooner."

Damian nodded slowly. He didn't know what to say, so he mirrored his father and simply stared at Grayson. There were so many important things they should be talking about, but Damian didn't know how to voice a single one of them.

Dick had always joked about how similar Damian and his father were when it came to emotions and talking. It had filled Damian with pride, until his father came back and he realized how unmanageable a possible partnership between them would be if they weren't able to communicate.

A possible partnership... Damian swallowed thickly. Bruce Wayne was back and ready to be Batman again. He had dreamed about this day for so long, but now he couldn't find it in himself to be happy about it. Would Dick go back to being Nightwing again? In Blüdhaven? What if he and his father didn't work well together? Would he even trust him? The looks the man had shot in Damian's direction had been full of suspicion so far, and understandably so; Bruce Wayne hadn't had time yet to judge Damian al Ghul, Talia's twisted gene experiment.

Damn, it had been hard enough with a forgiving person like Richard to prove his loyalty, he didn't know how to do it with _the_ Batman. It wasn't fair, really, now that he and Dick had finally worked each other out.

"Drake said you were lost in time," he heard himself stating suddenly.

His father hummed in affirmation, but didn't elaborate. As if being lost in time didn't need any clarification...

"He also said you were back in our time for a while when he found you."

"A _short_ while, yes."

"Why didn't you contact us?"

It was more of an accusation than a question, and by now Damian had turned towards his father, eyes narrowed. Bruce Wayne glanced down at him and was obviously unhappy to be involved in this discussion.

"My absence was more effective for the plan. Leviathan was-"

Damian zoned out from the rest. _More effective_ – from all the expresseions he could chose from, his father had to use this one. "-tt-"

"What was that?"

"Did you tell him already?" It was obvious who 'he' was. Grayson was the only connection the two of them shared.

"Dick? No, we haven't had time to talk," Bruce said, surprised, now clearly expressing interest in the boy next to him. "Why?"

Damian found that having his father's attention was like being plunged into cold water. "Don't tell him."

"...what?"

"Don't tell Grayson you were in our time longer than you let us know." Damian had troubles keeping his teeth from grinding together the more he thought about their situation. The anger and hurt were swelling up in his chest now, and yet he knew that it was only a fraction of the hurt Dick would feel if he knew. "He missed you. He _mourned_ you."

"Damian, I..." there was something like regret in the Batman's features now, but he didn't finish his sentence, and the empty apology (explanation? Reprimand?) hung in the air uselessly.

"Wethought you were dead."

"I didn't _want_ to be thrown through time, Damian. Tim told me what you have been through -"

"Drake knows nothing," he interrupted. His mother would have slapped him for that insolence towards his father. "He left, too."

Taken aback, Bruce nodded solemnly. "I see."

"Just don't tell him you let us believe you were dead when you weren't. It hurt him enough already."

His father opened his mouth to reply, but Damian simply turned around and left the room. There wasn't anything more to add. When he closed the door behind him, he allowed the adrenaline to rush up to his head.

Wow, had he really just set his father straight? The_ Batman_? How irrational, now their partnership would have to develop under the knowledge of Damian's insolence... but somehow, the boy couldn't feel bad about it.

He had observed Dick and Drake during the last two weeks, surprised by their complete trust and obedience towards their adoptive father. It pleased Damian to see them accepting his father's authority, but then Dick consented to a ridiculous plan that had him in ultimate danger of being shot in the head, without any doubts or objections.

Drake had listened to the plan looking as uncomfortable as Damian felt, but hadn't objected either. It made Damian uneasy to see this complete faith, especially when it came to Grayson. The idiot was too trusting, and he would be devastated to hear that he had placed his confidence in a person that let him believe he had lost his father a second time.

"I know you're awake, you can drop the act."

Damian flinched when he heard his father's voice through the wooden door. He heard his brother's voice, too quiet to make out the words, and Damian's cheeks turned red – Grayson had listened to his speech about his feelings?

"I would have agreed with his argumentation if I didn't know that Tim already told you about my decisions," his father's voice said.

Now Damian groaned inwardly. Drake, that stupid idiot. The show he had just put on had been completely pointless. Dick had already known, his father had known he had known, and worst of all, Dick had heard how he had tried to protect his_ feelings._.

He wanted to shudder, but then remembered something. _'It's not so much the words that matter, Damian, but your actions.'*_

Huh...

"He's very protective of you," Bruce said. "...Of course it hurts to grin, Dick, the side of your face is completely bruised."

_Idiot_. Damian smiled and decided that he didn't need to know what else they were talking about. He had to feed his cat now anyway, else Buddy would take it out on Pennyworth's curtains.

_-tbc-_

_* this quote goes back to the previous chapter._

* * *

**A/N:** _Last chapter coming up! It will be shorter, so I guess I'll update soon. This means the poll will be closed sooner, too, so please use the time left to vote. Right now we have one story leading with just a one percent margin, so it'll be pretty close. I never thought of an emergency plan if two stories end up as winners, so don't bring me into that situation ;)_

_Sorry for everyone who had suffered from a heart attack due to the last line of the last chapter. I thought it was very obvious that I meant the Dr. Hurt incidence.. well, it turned out to be not so much of a canon episode, I hope you don't mind. But actually I like my take better, since its more realistic (a bullet shot from close range that doesn't penetrate the brain immediately but maybe will paralyze him later? Please. And not even Dickiebird has a skull hard enough to be up and fighting afterwards..). Also, I don't want to hear any complaints about me torturing Dick, because actually I was a lot nicer to him than the canon! ;D_

_(France was awesome, thanks for asking. Marseille was beautiful, but that wasn't a surprise since everything I've seen of France so far has been stunning. Unfortunately, my French is tres mauvais^^)_


	9. Keep Talking

**Chapter 9: Keep Talking**

_-a month later- _

Damian wasn't surprised when Grayson stomped down the stairs into the hallway, two heavy suitcases in his hands. In fact, no one was surprised – Alfred raised a skeptical eyebrow and handed a five dollar bill to Drake, who was grinning smugly. Father wasn't with them; he had stormed into the cave after the last argument.

So it was happening now; Damian had anticipated it since Dick's head wound had healed three weeks ago. He wasn't naïve enough to ever think that he and Grayson would still be partners once Bruce Wayne had returned, but he had enjoyed the time they got nonetheless. As soon as Grayson had recovered, he and Damian's father had tried to work something out – there were two Batmen around for a while, driving Gotham's villains crazy, and Robin had joined both of them for a time.

Needless to say, thinks didn't work out. While both Batmen were serious and efficient during patrol, Grayson and Father resembled a volcanic catastrophe when they had to interact without the cowls on. 'Normal,' Drake had called it in a precious moment when both men had to stop screaming to gasp for air; 'arguing,' Damian would call it. They wound each other up so quickly Damian usually didn't even pick up the subtle vibes or changes in tone that preceded the sudden screaming matches. Afterwards they both stomped away – Dick onto the roof, Father down into the cave. Complete opposites.

Not that his father was a bad person – he was just different than Grayson. He was quiet, but Damian was okay with that. Bruce Wayne made his words count, and that was certainly a quality to be valued. The only problem was that those words were almost exclusively spoken when the topic centred around the mission and Gotham. It was driving Dick mad just as it had Damian when the roles were reversed.

It was like a revelation to the boy, who couldn't help but wonder how stupid he had been to ask Grayson to act more like his Father. Apart from the fact that he didn't know Bruce Wayne back then, it must have been a cruel offence to Grayson to demand him to perform a U-turn in his personality – no wonder he had been so pissed off at Damian.

Things made so much sense, now that his Father was back and Damian could observe which personality traits and habits Grayson had picked up to resemble him. Speaking only when he had to. Hiding his praise in dubious lectures. Testing his partners again and again without telling them if they did anything right or wrong. Damian couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction when he watched that Dick too couldn't handle it any better than he had. Worse, actually, if anyone bothered to ask the boy. It was appalling how fast Dick lost his gentleness and patience when it came to the original Batman, while Bruce, usually such a controlled and quiet man, wasn't able to keep himself from firing back.

His father was still a complete enigma to Damian, who was still trying to find out if Batman or Bruce Wayne was the disguise. He would have settled for Batman, since all he ever got from the man were short sentences and Batglares, but there were different glimpses of emotions and character traits when he argued with Grayson. Damian had seen regret, offence and hurt for the tiniest moments, which were emotions the Batman didn't feel.

Basically, Damian only spent time with his father during patrol. It wasn't Bruce's fault – he had to come up with a ridiculous story of where he had been during the last year and had to work his way back into Wayne Industries and Gotham's situation. He chased criminals over Gotham's rooftops most of the night and spent the few precious hours he was at home sleeping. It was logical, reasonable and effective, but Damian still felt like there should be a little bit more effort to get to know his son.

Grayson thought so, too, and was never too shy to voice it. Damian knew that many of the arguments and verbal attacks were about him. For Damian's sake Dick had stayed around longer than necessary, but needless to say it didn't work out. They were both leaders, neither able to accept the other's authority – when Grayson grew out of Robin, he grew out for good, and a year of being the Batman hadn't exactly staunched his natural leadership abilities. Father on the other hand was used to good little soldiers and solitude for too long. He didn't know how to deal with Dick's steady presence, while Dick on the other hand needed company, talking, touches.

Damian didn't want Dick to leave, but it was the only logical solution. He was sure that as soon as there were three hours of motorway between them, Grayson and Father would work with each other brilliantly and go back to talking about the other with the highest praise.

Still, he wasn't happy to see Grayson leave.

"You're finally leaving," he observed once Dick had made it down the stairs, cursing and huffing all the way. Absorbed in his multi-lingual cussing, his former mentor hadn't even noticed the three people in the living room and had the decency to look a little bit embarrassed.

"Dami..." he began with regret, but obviously didn't know what to say.

"You're going back to Blüdhaven."

He was missing his old life, his own city, his own persona. Grayson never wanted to be Batman; he had chosen Nightwing as his alter ego, consciously distancing himself from Gotham and its protector. His obvious dismissal of Father's approach had always thrown a shadow on Batman and Robin's partnership, and the tension was almost unbearable once Bruce was back. Damian's run with his Father would be easier once Grayson was gone, taking all the old resentments between him and Batman with him.

"I will still be around often, I promise," Dick said now, looking sadly down at the boy he had raised for a year. Damian had a foreboding that a hug was coming his way, and took a precautionary step back.

"-tt-."

"Does Master Bruce know you're leaving?" The butler's voice made the old dynamic duo look up.

"Well, I kinda shouted it after him..."

"Just call once you arrived, I'm sure he'll understand," Drake said easily and moved to give Dick a quick hug goodbye.

"You take care, yeah?" Grayson ruffled the teen's hair with an affectionate smile.

"I hope you don't expect me to clean up the mess you left in the computer files," Damian piped up sourly and glared at Drake, who just huffed and stepped away from Grayson. Good.

"Master Dick never cleaned up any mess he left anywhere," Pennyworth answered and grabbed one of the suitcases to carry it to the car. He and Grayson shared a grin, and then it was Damian's time to say goodbye.

Grayson knelt down to reach eye level and immediately ruffled Damian's hair, too. "You know this has nothing to do with you, right?"

"-tt-, of course it doesn't."

"Your father is just such a pighead, it's driving me mad."

"I noticed. I'm sure he would say the same thing about you."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Grayson flashed him a bright grin. "I'll visit, and then we'll patrol together, okay?"

"That... would be acceptable."

"And I'll buy you ice cream and we'll visit the zoo. You've never been to the pets corner, have you?You'll love it – there are rabbits and guinea pigs, and sometimes even goats or ponies!"

"Grayson..." he growled, appalled, and Grayson laughed and pulled him into a hug. Reluctantly, Damian brought up his arms and returned the embrace.

"You can always call me, right?" Dick pulled back and was all serious now. "If there's a problem, I'll come back immediately."

"Yeah, I know," Damian said and sent a smug look at Drake. Maybe the idiot could turn out to be useful after all.

"Any _serious_ problem," Grayson corrected with rolling eyes. Damian nodded. He would make it serious, no problem there.

* * *

Three and a half hours later, Damian grabbed his phone and texted Grayson. He had just checked the traffic news – no traffic jams or accidents on the road to Blüdhaven, and Dick was usually driving fast anyway. He was home now certainly.

'14.35pm: Grayson, you need to return at once.'

Two seconds later, he heard Drake's annoying ring tone. _Crap_. After three minutes, his phone buzzed.

_'14.38pm: I just talked to Tim. Nice try, kiddo.'_

'14.39pm: It's not about Drake.'

_'14.39pm: B.'ll come around, u need to give him time.'_

'14.40pm: My mother took my DNA and cloned me because I failed her.'

_'14.42pm: LOL! Ur mother's not that stupid!'_

_'14.45pm: Dami?'_

_'14.46pm: Shit, r u serious?!_

_'14.47pm: I'm on my way.'_

_'14.48pm: ...brat.'_

Damian grinned. Very good. Now he only needed to teach Buddy how to ruin Drake's shoes.

_-fin-_

**A/N**:_ aaaand that's it! Thank you for reading and reviewing. This story has been a lot of fun. After Lifelines, it really felt good to write a shorter, more light-hearted story like TDB (lol, at least it was more light-hearted to me ;) ). I used this story to learn how to write a complex character like Damian, and to show character growth. I used a lot of small techniques to portray it, like Damian calling Dickiebird 'Grayson' in the beginning, 'Richard' when it realizes that he actually misses him, and 'Dick' once they made up again (only in his head, of course). Did anyone even notice that?^^_

_I also learned a lot about story writing, like DON'T TRY TO WRITE CANON IF YOU DON'T KNOW THE CANON! I finally got around to read the Red Robin Comics in Marseille, and argh. I didn't know that they lived in the Batbunker and not in the Cave or the Manor (why?), or that Bruce Wayne was never officially dead and they used Thomas Elliot (which makes soooo much sense). Also I was super mad at myself when I read that Damian once cut Timmy's lines. WTF? Here I try to built some super-stupid racism-related argument between Dami and Dick to make Dick really furious, when all the while _Damian cut the lines of one member of Dick's family_?! OMG I can only hope someone will write THAT story, Dick must have been so disappointed and terrified.. ah well, on the other hand I got around to brush a few topics I really want to write about one day, like sexual violence and racism. They are pretty delicate, and it was very interesting to read your reactions._

_I'd like to comment on two issues that caused a bit of controversies. The first is the idea that it was actually Dick who suffered the most from his and Damian's deal. Actually, I think that's not right – of course he wasn't happy about it and it hurt him to be so cold towards his little bro, but I tried to show that Dick is cleverer than that. He was cold towards Damian, but used his other friendships with Steph, Roy and Wally and Babs to stay true to himself (in the end, that is an issue of interpretation, and both versions are legit!). The second controversy was about Dick's one night stand, and related, the fact that it wasn't Babs! So first of all, it only happened because I wanted Dick to have some fun in a way that would piss off Damian. In my opinion, having sex is not that big of a deal so I didn't think about how 'well' it fitted to Dick's character. I was a bit surprised that so many of you thought the lady was Babs! :D To he honest, I never even thought about her. That is because 1) I am hopelessly un-romantic and 2) Babs didn't have a proper role in this story and I like her too much to have her only appear as 'one of Dick Grayson's flings'. It wouldn't do her justice, she's a way too strong character! … does that make sense? oO_

_To the poll! It's closed now, and the winner is the 'Bruce needs to be saved by Officer Grayson' story! With only one percent! Thanks for everyone who participated. Since the Commissioner Gordon-prompt was leading almost the entire time, I didn't even begin to think about a plot for the winner, lol, so I might need a bit to come up with something. I may take a while since it involves Dick in uniform and that usually makes me retreat into my own world of heavy fangirlism and unfinished sentences that start with 'OMG I can't even'... _

_Another announcement at the end: I decided to write a Lifelines sequel, already began to plot, and hopefully come around to posting in only a few weeks :D See you then!_

_Love, pekuxumi_


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